


Marked

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: A/B/O, Abusive Relationships, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Biting, Bonding, Character Death, Dubious Consent, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Kink Meme, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, OTB, Omega Verse, Physical Abuse, Sassy Barsad, Scent Marking, slight blood play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 41
Words: 89,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme Prompt: John and Barsad are omegas in love--secretly. Omegas aren't allowed to be together because they are special; they must be bonded to an alpha. This is where Bane comes in, he is an alpha and (eventually) bonds to both.</p><p>Summary: Barsad and John found each other as orphaned children, drawing close and dreaming of growing up together and bonding when they differentiated.  They never thought it could be anything other than their destiny.</p><p>It is years before they see each other again, each bonded, but not to each other.  And on opposite sides of a war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Barsad could not remember much of his childhood before St. Swithin’s. It was a blur of a lovely woman’s face, soft singing, and low laughter as he was swung onto the broad shoulders of a man and carried through dingy streets. The faded thoughts always filled him with a sense of melancholy. They were sometimes brought back from certain sounds, smells, sights, and when it occurred he would pause, try to bring back those thoughts and remember, but it was like grasping smoke.

  
Barsad would rather think that his childhood began with Robin.

  
They had found him on the docks, curled up asleep between the crates, filthy and hungry.  With nowhere to go and being unable to tell them anything but his name and age, eight, he was put into the boys’ home.

  
“Why do you talk funny?” Another boy peered down at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed into an angry sort of look that stuck on his face.

  
Barsad hadn’t meant to knock out his two front teeth. They were simply loose.

  
They sat together in the office, and the boy swallowed and pulled the bloody cloth away from his mouth, his tiny pink tongue poking at his gums.

  
“That was so cool,” he whispered, eyes wide with awe, lisping from the gap between his teeth.

  
Barsad had been studying his clenched hands, waiting for punishment. He looked over cautiously.

  
“Now we both sound funny.”

  
The boy covered his mouth and snorted with laughter until blood started dripping out from his lips again. Barsad gave him a small smile and took the cloth, pressing to his mouth.

  
“Sorry.”

  
“I fell,” the boy lied as he looked up with wide brown eyes at the father when he came out to speak with Barsad. The boy’s lip quivered convincingly and Barsad decided that they were friends. Barsad told him so after the father dismissed them, and the boy blinked in surprise, like it had not already been obvious they were.

  
“My REAL name’s Robin, but only you can use it,” Robin informed him seriously as they ran off to play.

  
Lonely friendship made them constant companions. He was aloof with the other children, they were boring. They couldn’t handle Robin’s constant anger; Barsad thought it made him interesting. He was clever and funny and biting. Robin slipped under his covers each night and they held onto each other, whispered secrets that meant nothing and everything to a child.

  
They shared their first kiss when he was fourteen, his Robin thirteen. The adults around them called it ‘puppy love,’ and thought it was cute as long as it wasn’t taken further. Every child went through an experimental phase when they were young. When their dynamics surfaced, if they were incompatible, their interests would shift. They sat in the back of their classes and pushed their desks as closely together as they could get away with. They were equally terrible students, but between the two of them they passed their classes.

  
As they observed the other older children they knew begin to differentiate, things shifted. They watched as alphas and betas left the home after changing and aging out. The more rare omegas were kept safe in the boys’ home until a potential mate could be found for them. They were both turning out to be late bloomers, and they fought over who was going to get to be the alpha, or if they would both be betas together. It ended in more than one scuffle.

  
“It’s gonna be me. You’ll see,” Robin argued, pushing Barsad’s face into his pillow and biting down onto his clothed shoulder in mimicry of the bonding bite they’d learned about in class that day. The marks were given during heats between alphas and omegas who wanted to bond, each cycle and bite drawing them closer until they became on inseparable being, so deep in each other’s skin that they always smelled them, always felt them. “You’re smaller than me even though you’re older. You’re going to be the omega, and I’m going to take care of you,” John promised, pressing a sloppy, playful kiss to the back of his neck.

  
Barsad snorted and rolled under him onto his back, listening to Robin yelp and nearly fall over at the sudden shift beneath him. “That does not matter. You are small, too. I will be the alpha, and I’m going to bond with you right away so that no one else can ever even look at you.” He stroked a finger down his nose and watched the slight quiver of Robin’s lip. “Mine.”

  
They finally agreed that it would not matter who got which. It never occurred to them that anything would happen to end that. Even the adults of St. Swithin’s mentioned it, that it had to be a natural intuitiveness that drew them together since they were so inseparable.  

  
Not long after he turned seventeen, only in the home still because he hadn't differenciated yet, Barsad woke feeling sick with cramping in his stomach. He went to the nurse who happily informed him that it was the first signs of his dynamic coming through, that he was an omega, and that he should feel special because they were so rare. It meant he had a place at the boy’s home until an alpha claimed him. Omegas with parents were kept in their homes for the same reasons, for safety.  

  
It wasn’t a full heat, just a warning of what was to come, so he was sent back to bed and Robin climbed into it with him. He closed his eyes and let Robin sniff at his damp skin curiously.

  
“You smell different.”

  
“So do you. Everything smells different, and it’s too hot,” he complained mildly, curling up. Robin curled up behind him, wrapping an arm around his chest.

  
“Does it hurt?”

  
He shook his head and wiggled back against him, settling. “No, it just feels strange.”

  
“Are you horny?” Robin asked cheekily against his ear, and Barsad snorted, smacking at his hand. No one else was around, and they’d gotten to doing more than kissing on occasion even knowing how frowned upon it was. He felt his grin against his neck. “Yeah, you are. I can’t wait until I pop, too. It’s good that you went first. Now when I shift we can leave together.”

  
He smiled at the thought, and it made the heat he was in seem much more bearable. When they were sure no one would be coming into the rooms, Robin ducked under the covers and sucked him off.

  
He had a few more false heats, annoying things that made him lie in bed and squirm, not enough to need to be filled but enough to arouse him. Robin always stayed with him, stroked his fingers over his cock while he curled up tightly beside him, sniffing at his neck. He was given a few private lessons about what to expect when the cycling evened out and he had a full heat, how his body would crave and he would not be able to control himself.  
Robin had smirked a little playfully when he told him that part.

  
“I think I’m going to like that. Don’t worry. I’d never make you beg.”

  
Barsad snorted then shoved him down onto the pillow and climbed onto him, sniffing his throat and wondering how he would smell when he changed. John was taking forever to differentiate, and he made sure to tease him about it regularly. He was getting tired of St. Swithin’s. The rules were starting to change for him. Before, he could go out and simply worry about curfew, now it was as if they were trying to keep him under lock and key.

  
He wasn’t fragile. He had gotten into more than one fist fight with Robin by his side and they’d laughed, limped home from the brawl and helped clean each other up. Suddenly having a heat didn’t change him. Now, though, people spoke to him differently, more gently. When he was gruff or ‘rude’ it was treated with sharper looks than before. There was a fit when he snuck out to get his second tattoo, when the first had barely been scolded. It wasn’t his place to mar his skin. He was not being ‘omega-like,’ and he needed to mind his manners. He was more than ready to go away with Robin. It would be difficult, but he was sure they could scrape together a life together, be content with each other.

  
He thought about what it might be like. His Robin was so beautiful, growing into his long limbs, his lean muscle showing now. He wanted to protect him just as much as he knew Robin would want to protect him as an alpha, or even a beta. They did worry over that. They would get flak for it. With omegas being so rare, it was frowned upon for betas to take up with them. They would deal with it, if the situation arose. He would smile when Robin snuck into his bed each night, something no amount of punishment had ever been able to deter him from, and they would curl up and wait for the change.

  
But the change was unwelcome when he woke one morning to feel Robin squirming beside him, softly panting against his neck. He smelled sweet, and his skin was hot. He didn’t understand at first until he felt the warm press of his cock through the sheets. Robin was in heat, and he felt his stomach drop. Both of them omegas, how could they have been so unlucky? To both shift into the one pairing that was considered the most taboo, one that was forbidden by law. Omegas were too rare, too precious, too delicate for them to bond with one another. They needed alphas, or at the very least a well-off beta to be able to take care of them.

  
This… it simply wasn’t right. He didn’t want to wake Robin, to take this last peaceful moment of not knowing from him. He watched as he squirmed in discomfort in his sleep, rubbed his back and tried to think or what they could possibly do. When he woke, Robin’s anger quickly cleared the rest of the boys out of the room. He was a ball of rage, snarling and swearing.

  
“It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!” He swung at him in his anger, and Barsad caught him up, held him to his body and rocked him gently.

  
“I know, Robin, I know.”

  
They couldn’t change it, though. Soon Barsad’s heats would become regular, and Robin’s would even out, too. They couldn’t stay in the home forever. An alpha was bound to pick them out, offer a ‘dowry’ to the orphanage in exchange for them in lieu of having one to give to their parents. They would have some say, but ultimately they would be pushed until they said yes. Barsad had seen it happen several times now, snuck around and listened to new omegas being cajoled into signing contracts that might as well have meant they were selling their body to an alpha they barely knew. It was for their own good, after all. It was amazing what people could convince themselves was for someone else’s ‘own good.’

  
When alphas started looking into him with a slight interest, he turned his nose up at them. They lost interest quickly, most of them, anyway. Others seemed to think he would be interesting to tame. He ignored them, ignored the persuading and coaxing and subtle threats to sign a contract. Finally, the threats became not so subtle. He was told he would be put into a sorting system soon if he did not pick someone, and a choice would be made for him, his heats would take care of the rest. Omegas were too rare to waste. So much for choice.

  
He kissed Robin’s forehead while he slept, and ran away that night.

  
He was going to come back for him, he left him a note. He had felt the first signs of his heat that morning, though, and didn’t trust their caretakers anymore not to use it to their advantage, to get him to sign something when he was incoherent, to have someone take him then and there. For now, he needed a quick escape and a place to hide.  
He found it in the sewers. It was not as bad as it seemed down there. His heat was like fire, though, the first full-fledged one. He longed for anyone to come and take him, cried out for it, and when he was coherent was grateful he had gone deep enough into the sewers that there was no one there to hear him. It lasted several days without an alpha to ease it, and by the end he was exhausted and shaking. He crept back to the orphanage in the dark and Robin looked worried sick. He gave him a triumphant look.

  
“So much for needing an alpha.”

  
“You are such a crazy fucker,” Robin muttered and kissed his dry lips.

  
“Come with me?”

  
“You better fucking believe it.”


	2. Chapter 2

They snuck out that night, made their home in the sewers. Took odd jobs where they could, where no one would ask names and just needed bodies to lift boxes, sweep floors. They were cold, hungry, and never happier. They snuggled in close to one another’s skin each night, and kissed until they were breathless.  John complained when his newly-grown beard scratched his cheeks. He smiled and rubbed it against them in retribution, and they were laughing and content.

John’s heats hadn’t evened out yet, were just mild, low-grade things. Barsad held him close and stroked him off for them while he whimpered and eagerly rocked into his hand. It was enough for now, but he worried how John would be when he evened out and got his first real heat. He knew how terrible it felt, and he would only be able to do so much to help.

On top of that, it was dangerous for one or both them to be helpless for almost a week every three months without an alpha to lessen the time span. He looked into alternatives, found out about suppressants on the black market. It took hours of odd jobs just for one dose, but he bought it, tried it out when his heat came.

He had never felt sicker in his entire life. He couldn’t stop vomiting, and John begged him to let him take him to the hospital when he wouldn’t stop seizing up. He refused. It was too risky. When it was over, he was just glad they’d tried it on him first. They didn’t try it again.

They didn’t think anyone would look for them, but two omegas were too valuable to just let go. Worse, it showed other boys who knew them back at the home what could be gotten away with. Robin went out to try to get a job washing dishes at one of the nearby restaurants. He didn’t come back that night, and Barsad knew something was wrong. He knew there would be consequences for running, for daring to be together. What was once seen as sweet puppy love between them was now considered disgusting, vile and downright selfish.

He turned himself in to the police, saw Robin leap up from the small cell he was being held in when he was led past it. He swore at him, told him he was an idiot for going there. Barsad gave him a small, sad smile, pressed his fingers between the bars and told him he loved him, certain it was the last time they would see one another.

He was the oldest only by a year, but it was not hard to convince them that it was his fault, that he had goaded Robin into following him. He told them that Robin had wanted go to back several times but he had convinced him to stay. He painted himself in the blackest light that he could. It was exactly what they wanted. They needed someone to make an example of, after all. They told him that if he apologized, publically, that they would only put John in a sorting program, that he would be sent off somewhere in the country and be given to a good alpha.

He noticed the same offer was never made to him. He apologized anyway, lied through his teeth in front of the judge and jury. He never heard his sentence. It was not hard to guess, though. It was not unheard of for omegas to be exported oversees, like goods, an ‘exchange’ program of sorts to give other omegas a chance to enter the country.

It was also a clean way to get rid of unruly omegas.

He spent days on the small cramped boat, until he felt like the damp chill would never leave his bones. So much, he thought, for omegas being prized. Truly, the only prized omega was an obedient omega. All of the others were treated like slaves until they fell into place ‘for their own good.’ He spat bitterly onto the metal floor of his cage then stretched his legs and toes out one at a time, trying to keep his mind sharp. If there was a way to escape once they reached dry land, he would, into a crowd somewhere, start anew. It sent a pang of ache to his heart to think that that new start couldn’t happen with Robin.

It was better this way, though, for Robin to not know, to let him think he had moved on, been sent through the system like he was. Robin was young, still, and without his name attached to this incident like Barsad’s was, he could be given to an alpha, someone who would take care of him in a way that Barsad never could. He wanted Robin to forget him, let him think he was fine, was simply choosing not to contact him. It would hurt him but it would not break him. He was stronger than anyone ever gave an omega credit for.

When his feet hit the ground, he knew there was no place to run. He heard not a word of English around him.  The men he had bargained with were smarter than he gave them credit for. Where could he run off to in a place where he knew nothing, not even the language? His legs were still bound together, as well as his arms, and it made walking difficult with his still-stiff limbs. He stared up, refused to look at the ground as he was bustled along with others in the group. They kept their heads low.

He could smell spices and heavy sweat, fish and cooking meat. His stomach rumbled for it. It had been a long time since he’d been fed well, even before meals were few and far between. He eyed some of the stalls cooking and if he was not being so closely guarded he would have snitched up a spike of skewered meat to devour.

As it was, he only managed to make off with a handful of dates that he cautiously popped into his mouth when eyes were not entirely on him. He pierced the soft flesh with his teeth and hungrily sucked on the mellow sweetness of it. There was little else to do but watch as they were lead down dusty streets. He made a map in his mind. Running might be foolish, but it would be done without a better option. He could hardly think that there would be one if he was to be sold off here, to an alpha he would not even speak the same language as, most likely to be bred for their children and treated as a slave.

His knees hit the rough wood of the platform he was led up and splinters bit into his skin, made him grunt in pain. One of the men who had led him there was shouting above him, no English, but he heard his name. He was surprised it was even given. He looked up and watched the crowd as people raised their hands to place bids.

If he was to be bought, it was not to be on his knees. He shifted out from under them and crossed them in front of him, placed his hands on his legs and watched the people trying to buy his flesh.

The men watching him were none too pleased. He felt the butt of a rifle shove into his shoulder. He didn’t move, there seemed to be little point. Let the alpha buying him know what they were getting into. It seemed his inactivity caused a bit of a stir. The rifle jammed against his head painfully and he winced. The bidding stopped, though. Good, let them save their money for someone who would obey.

A final hand shot out of the crowd and he heard what he assumed to be a number shouted. No other bids were made. He shouted out a few curses and was gagged for his troubles until the man peeled some bills from a small pouch on his vest and paid for his body.

When he stood above him he could see how enormous he was, dark skinned with military garb and more than one gun on him. For the first time, he could not hold back the curl of fear in his stomach. This was a man who could break him. He pushed it down. If he was to be broken, he would face it without fear. He tilted his head up and narrowed his eyes, studying him.

He jumped when the man grabbed his shoulder, hauled him up and clapped his hand over his back, led him off from the crowd. He was speaking to him, not sharply, but looking at him intently and searching for a response. He paused finally.

“English, then?” It was said with ease, like it was not a bother to switch to it.

He nodded, grateful that he was perhaps fluent enough to get along in it, then squared his shoulders, stared ahead and walked. This man would discover he was a bad purchase, and in the meantime he had to memorize where he was being led so he could escape.

“Good, my name is Kojo. I am sorry to buy you, friend, but there is little other way to deal with such men until we topple their reign.” The man reached out and gave his hair a friendly ruff, then removed the gag from his mouth. He snapped at him with his teeth once they were free, even knowing the childishness of it.

“Aht!” He laughed deeply and snatched his fingers away. “Like a wolf cub, or perhaps a fox. You are so slender,” Kojo mused.

“Either one will not make a pleasant bed-fellow for you,” he promised.

“You are so handsome, that were I to bring you to my bed, my beta lover would gut me.” Kojo flashed him a bright grin that lit up his face.

That drew a startled breath out of him. This man was an alpha, he would bet upon it. It was a taboo to have a beta lover, not nearly as much as himself and Robin, nothing was, but it was frowned upon. He forced his air of calm back into place. “And yet you buy me.”

His face darkened at that. “It is a cruel necessity,” he agreed. “Not our leader’s best decision, though I would appreciate it if you did not tell him I said so. Still, I would never have agreed if I did not think it would be of benefit.” He touched his shoulder lightly, personably, innocently, and Barsad felt strange from it, since it felt like this man was touching him as though they were friends, equals.

“You will see, soon. I feel that you will understand and join us willingly, brother.”

Barsad found the idea to be highly doubtful.

“Have you ridden on a motorbike before?” Kojo asked as he pulled the cloth cover off of a bike with the rustle of fabric, tucking it away in a saddle bag. It looked well-traveled, mud coating the wheels. It wasn’t a thing that was used for its style. It was sturdy, and the seat padding looked well worn. He shook his head and eyed it suspiciously, wondering how injured he would be if he jumped from it while they were in motion.

“Well, there is not much to it. Just hold on,” Kojo assured him. He pulled a knife from his belt and Barsad was surprised when he knelt down, slicing through the bindings on his legs then wrists with the sharp blade. He tucked it away and handed him a helmet, made an amused sound when Barsad held it in confusion and took it back, pulling it down over Barsad’s head himself. “I wouldn’t want you to take a tumble and crack your pretty skull. You will need to hold on, keep your arms around my waist.”

The ride was… exhilarating.

He realized what a stupid idea jumping was the moment the motorcycle roared to life and Kojo took off racing down the crowded streets. He bit back a startled cry and wrapped his arms as tightly around Kojo as he could, almost missing the loud laughter his actions got when he dug his fingers into the man’s jacket firmly. He did not wish to do it, he far from trusted this man, but he also did not wish to become ground hamburger were he to fall off. It was not long before they left the town behind entirely, little more than a distant blur in their wake.

The more open air and the wider dirt roads were more relaxing, even on the bike. He settled, forced himself to relax and hold onto Kojo. He was glad he could not smell the man through the helmet. He was still far off from his next cycle, but he had heard that it was not unheard of for a cycle to start early if an omega was unclaimed and if one was in close proximity to a very compatible alpha, and Barsad had no doubt of Kojo’s virility.

His legs were starting to ache before they stopped. The constant vibration was rattling his bones and his fingers hurt from digging into Kojo’s vest. He was grateful when they finally came to a stop. It did not seem they had arrived anywhere beyond a cave, though. The bike was stowed there, and Kojo took his helmet, tossed him his canteen, some food that he devoured and then a thick coat.

“I’m afraid the easy part of our journey is finished.”

He paused around a mouthful of dried beef. If this was the easy portion, he could not imagine the difficult.

But then, he had never climbed a mountain before.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time they made it to the top of the mountain, he felt like he had left his heart at the bottom of it. In truth, he had probably left it in Gotham City. He was frozen to the bones, now. Each time they ascended another portion of the mountain, escape felt a little farther out of his reach, and he built up his own walls a little more.

When they took a break, he ran. It was foolish, he knew it, but he could not keep himself still. He barely got more than a few yards before he was crushed to the snowy ground by Kojo’s large frame. He braced himself, waiting for his punishment. Kojo patted his back and raised himself up slowly, offering him a hand.

“It’s why I chose you, you know? You have spirit, a fierceness hidden beneath those sleepy blue eyes.” It was the only thing said between them until they came to the top of the mountain.

“Where are we?” He was damp again, soaked through his coat with snow and sweat, alternating between frozen and overheated. Kojo looked worn, as well, though it was obvious he had made the trip before. He stared at the building in front of them. It was like a fortress tucked away in the snowy mountain side.

“Home.” Kojo put a hand onto his shoulder and led him inside.

“This is where our journey together ends, for now, at least.” Kojo gave him a serious look, glancing around quickly. He did not know why he bothered; he had seen not a soul here as they walked down the large, quiet halls.

“Do not let appearances deceive you.”

He did not have time to ask what he meant. He was ushered through a door which closed behind him quickly.

Clearly this place valued its secrecy.

The room was brightly lit, open-aired and chilly, but it was hardly noticeable for in the center of it was a man, or perhaps it was a monster. His build put his new acquaintance Kojo’s to shame, metal and leather twisted over his face, and his bare chest was exposed as he knelt with a youth whose small hands pressed flat against the man’s larger ones as the pair drew in slow, deep breaths together, looking as though they were in a deep meditation. He watched, puzzled, unsure if he should speak and looking towards the door. He was exhausted, though, and it was dark outside, the day taken up entirely by their trip. Who knew what lurked on this mountain at night.

Two pairs of eyes were trained on him suddenly. He kept still, held a gaze of apathy to cover his unease over the strangeness he felt here.

The youth stood suddenly, shoulders stiff beneath their robes and their pace brisk, angry as they walked past him, leaving him alone with the man. He stood then, and Barsad felt overwhelmed by even that act. He was not near him and yet he felt towered over. He’d never been one to feel intimidated by the mere presence of anyone. He had prided himself in being able to appear unruffled in any situation.

“Forgive her. She is most upset. She fears her father’s plan will work.” The man’s voice was strange. It hissed and echoed through the contraption on his face. “You are the omega.”

“My name is Barsad.” He narrowed his eyes, straightened his spine. “That I am an omega is not your concern.”

“It is very much my concern. You were bought for me.”

The world felt like it lurched beneath his feet. He shook his head quickly, even knowing the futility of it. “I am not yours,” he hissed. “I belong to no one.” There was a sense of panic in him. He had survived his heat without an alpha before simply because he’d locked himself away from alphas. There were no sewers to hide from, here. He had been traveling for weeks. How soon before his next cycle hit him? How soon before it was taken advantage of and he willingly opened his legs for this monster that had purchased him like an animal?

It was no secret that many, if not most, bonds were made in such situations, where the omega was in too much of a heat fog to ever say no to it. That was one of the pretenses used to keep them kept under tight surveillance when unbound, so that they would not tempt alphas or put themselves in dangerous situations.

“I am afraid that we have some things to discuss.”

“We have nothing to discuss. If you wish me more agreeable, then wait for my heat. You will get nothing from me now.”

“That is precisely why I would prefer to talk with you now, when you have your wits about you, so that we may come to an agreement.”

Even with his mass, the man was soundless as he approached him. Grey-blue eyes looked down at him sharply, studying him. He could smell sweat and musk coming from him, alpha scent that was so strong it made him nearly shiver.  His nose flared slightly and he could not entirely keep himself from breathing in deeply again.  
  
“I find myself in a… disagreeable situation,” he spoke. Barsad was struck by the eloquence in his tone, his clearly carefully constructed word choices. “I would ask that you hear me out.”

“I do not seem to have many other options.”

“You could leave now, but I do not think it would be wise for you. I am not the only unclaimed alpha here, and you are quite beautiful. I do not know when your heat strikes you, but I doubt you will figure out a way to leave this place before it does.”

He nearly bit his tongue in irritation over the correctness in the man’s assessment. “Very well.”

“My name is Bane, and I did not choose for you to come here. I have no wish for a mate, nor a lover.”

“And yet, I am here.”

“You are, but not under my orders. You were purchased for me in a hope to distract me. I am afraid you are a pawn in a game.”

“How fortunate for me, for my life to be merely another game for others,” he spat out bitterly.

Bane gave him a look that Barsad nearly found to be sympathetic. “As are we all, in many ways, brother. This is a deadly game we play now, though. The child you saw me with.” His face softened, the change was visible even covered by a mask. “Talia. She is mine.”

“Your child?” If this man had had an omega mate before, if something had happened to them, it was not unusual for others to insist they find another quickly, to keep their instincts from riling up. Alphas were so aggressive by nature, and to not have an omega to keep them calm after being used to it was dangerous.

“No. You misunderstand. She is not my blood, she is my destiny. Sit.”

He found himself able to do little else. They sat by a fire lit in a small coal brazier, and he listened begrudgingly as the man told him a tale of a prison and a pit, of a leap to freedom and the price it cost him. He felt himself soften inside, even hating it as it happened. He had to be firm, escape.

“How is it you are here now, then?” he questioned him suspiciously. There was no reason to simply accept what he said as truth. It could just as easily be a lie.

“Talia insisted on coming back to me, to extract me if I lived, and to wreak vengeance if I did not. Her father found me. I know now he regrets that he did not dissuade his daughter from her revenge.”

“Why?”

“He despises me. My visage is a constant reminder of how he failed his wife, his daughter.”

“And yet he brings you gifts.”

“Gifts not given with good intentions,” Bane informed him. “He wishes to distract me, to draw me away from Talia.”

“How so?” he could not help but ask. This was a strange thing. He could not understand this place or this monster who spoke like a man, and whose eyes were so piercing that even when he spoke of his past Barsad felt them on his skin.

“I think it is his belief that if I bond with you, breed you, I will lose interest in Talia.”

He felt himself stiffen. He knew that bonding meant children, and the reminder was unpleasant, made his stomach sick that he could be forcibly bred. He tensed when Bane’s hand went to his shoulder, squeezing firmly there. He had never felt so small. That hand encompassed his shoulder, and its grip was tight even through his coat.

“What Ra’s al Ghul cannot understand is that Talia and I are bound by fate. You are a handsome omega, and I can see spirit in you, but even taking you will not distract me from my duty to protect her.”

“Then let me leave.” He pushed up to stand, held back his scowl when Bane’s hand did not leave him.

“I am afraid it is not so simple. You are for me, but I did not purchase you. I assume that if I do not take you, you will be used elsewhere in the league. There are… comfort rooms that alphas and some betas choose to use with omegas.”

“WHORE rooms,” he hissed out angrily and raised a fist, swinging it towards Bane. It was caught up pitiably easily and he winced when his wrist was squeezed, feeling the sharp grind of bone against bone.

“You lack discipline. It is somewhat forgivable, considering the poor circumstances under which we are meeting, but do not mistake it for weakness on my part.”

His wrist was let go and he nursed it with his other hand.  “You wish me to do what, then? Simply go with you or be a whore?”

“They are not whores,” Bane corrected, a note of irritation in his tone. “They are unbonded brothers and sisters who go to those rooms during their heat. Our leader and I may not agree on many things, but he is a man worthy of respect. The league takes all those willing to fight for the good of humanity, regardless of their dynamic. You, I feel, were a purchase of desperation. He would never buy another human life otherwise.”

“I do not understand, then, what options I am being offered.” He rubbed his arm then stilled in surprise when Bane took it into his own lap, rubbed the muscle for him.

“I am offering you the opportunity to be free from society’s shackles here. Become our brethren. You are strong and spirited, and even if you do not choose to couple with me, you will not be treated as a lower class here.”

Bane’s eyes stared into his own, and it was the first time he ever found himself trusting the word of an alpha.

He stayed. Where else was he to go? He longed for Robin, but knew it could not be, and there in the league he learned many things. Bane trained him, taught him to use his body as a weapon. He had been in many fights during his youth, but they had been scraps, brawls. Bane made him into a warrior.


	4. Chapter 4

He trained with him daily with a patience that one would not expect unless one saw how he trained Talia by his side. Talia, who bit her lip and eyed him with fierce suspicion until she realized that he was not trying to take Bane from her.  He could not fault her her worry. He knew what it was like to be separated from someone he loved. They grew closer, though, she learned he was no threat to her, and soon he felt himself enamored with her fierce spirit. He understood Bane’s need to protect it.

He did not expect that he would soon grow to yearn for Bane, who he now called brother and rose to meditate with every morning from the same pallet. It had been decided that they would share a room if only to not snub Ra’s al Ghul and his gift. In truth, Barsad suspected Bane feared he would try again with another omega.

It was bittersweet when he realized he was beginning to feel his brother in his heart, in a place that once housed only love for his Robin. He hated himself at first, became spiteful that truly he was no better than any of the other weak-willed omegas of Gotham, and that the men who had taken him here were right. He had simply needed the right alpha to tame him.

“What troubles you, brother?” Bane asked him as he sat on their pallet. He had not been able to sleep, had felt bitterness in his stomach that climbed up to his throat and made his head tight with tension. He sat, instead, and stared out into the darkness. He had not realized Bane was awake beside him until he spoke. He still clearly had much to learn.

“It is nothing. It is only a harsh reality I have begun to face. That I am no better than everything I have fought against since my youth.”

His brother sat up beside him and touched his fingers to the bare skin of his back. He fought the urge to dip his head down and offer the back of his neck. Pure foolishness. Even if he had been stupid enough to grow to desire Bane, he knew it was not returned, that he had been put here as a stumbling block for him and that Bane was Talia’s, he cared not for others.

“Share with me.”

He shook his head and Bane made a displeased noise. He cringed, hating it and wondering how so quickly Bane’s displeasure had become his own.

“I was in love before I came here,” he said finally after a long moment of silence between them passed. He would tell Bane, he decided. Bane knew of love, he saw it in his eyes every day when he trained Talia.

Bane’s breathing did not change, his fingers traced down his spine, though, warm in the cooler air. The warmth soaked into his spine as his fingers dipped down his body.

“To an omega; my beautiful Robin.” The words hurt when he forced them out of his tightened throat in a whisper. Bane’s fingers stilled.

“This is why you were sold.” It was not a question, and Barsad could hear anger. He had never heard anger in his brother, and he flinched from it. He would not apologize for his love.

“Yes.”

He stilled in surprised when he was turned around and Bane cupped his cheek, watching his face in the dim shadows of the room. “I did not know of this. You did not speak of it.” He sounded almost frustrated.

“I am not ashamed of it.” He did not push away, but he did not back down, either. He would never be ashamed.

“Nor should you ever be, brother.” His answer shocked him, and with it he felt an ease in his heart. “I simply did not know. We have been keeping you here, away from your love.”

He shook his head. “You are not. He is with another now, I am sure. I cannot have him,” he whispered sadly, and Bane’s thumb stroked across his cheek. It was apologetic, and he closed his eyes, taking comfort in the sincerity of the action.

“We both love deeply, brother, do we not?” Bane asked quietly, and Barsad felt wetness in his own eyes, clenched them more tightly closed. Bane wiped them.

“If we do, it hardly matters, does it?” he whispered. “My love is gone, and my fickle heart has already tried to replace him with another.” The words were blurted out quickly, without thinking, and he felt mortified the moment they left him. He made to stand, but Bane pulled him back down with him.

“Replace? I do not think you are the type to replace one love with another.” Barsad swallowed heavily and felt Bane’s eyes burning into him; he could not keep his shoulders from dipping down in submission. He sighed when they were clasped. His fingers shook nervously when his head tilted back. He swallowed when his throat bared.

“Very beautiful, brother,” Bane murmured softly, “but then, I have thought that of you since you first arrived.” His hand went to his throat and squeezed gently, making Barsad swallow again. “There is much more to you than that. Do you long for me, brother? Is that why you cannot sleep? Why you worry about if your heart has grown unruly?”

How could he lie? He could not even keep his body from trying to submit to Bane. His lips parted and he licked over them, whispered out a broken “yes” an apology for being the temptation that Ra’s al Ghul had wanted for Bane all along.

“Do not apologize. Your heart is pure. It is simply large enough to hold room for another.” Bane’s mask was suddenly against his neck, a chill where he felt heated, and he gasped when cool breath ran across his throat. “As I have learned mine is, as well.”

“Talia…”

“…Understands now that you will not take me from her.”

He shivered when Bane’s thumb went to his lips, tracing a slow, tantalizing circle across them, a kiss.

Bane’s voice sounded lower, rough with a desire that made his own heat up in return. “Will you let me have you during your heat, brother?”

He licked over his lips uncertainly, tasting his brother’s skin there, pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“Perhaps… we do not have to wait for a heat at all,” he spoke hesitantly, smiling slightly when his reply was met with a low chuckle.

“I would prefer to know your body before it,” Bane admitted, “so that we are not merely hormones and fumbling hands.”

“I doubt as if your hands could ever fumble, brother,” he replied honestly and took hold of his wrist, kissing down his palm. He could hear Bane’s breathing become louder, and he smiled against his skin.

It was a slow exploration of one another’s bodies. He had touched his brother before, held onto his limbs while training, so he knew the strength in them well, now. This was a different thing, to have it laid out in front of him to touch. He felt nervous, unsure of what was acceptable until Bane seemed to sense it.

“I doubt there is much you could do that I would not enjoy, Barsad.”

He could not help a slightly unsure smile. “I have touched none but my Robin. I am uncertain if you would be offended if I touched you in the same way.”

“I doubt you could have touched your little bird in an offensive way, brother.” Bane ran his hands down his shoulders, tracing his thumb across the lettering on his arm thoughtfully. “As it is, I have touched none at all, so you will have to teach me in this.”

“You have not…”

“The pit is hardly a place to find a willing partner… and there are enough wrongs in this world without staining oneself with the disgrace of forcing another.”

It put him at ease, almost, to know he actually had more experience in this. He grew bolder and climbed into his brother’s lap, facing him and pressing against the bare skin of his chest. When his brother’s hands touched over him, undressed him, he felt a momentary pang of sadness in his heart, thinking of the last time such an act had happened. He let it pass and familiarized himself with his brother’s body, kissed over his chest and, with his permission, bit and licked at his skin, pleased at how attention to his chest and sides made him groan.

It was a slow, drawn out sort of pleasure when Bane laid him out on their bedding, positioned himself over him. Before long, their cocks were pressed tight together in Bane’s hand. It was dry, even with his spit and how they dripped out, and so they kept the pace unhurried. He clung to his brother’s shoulders as he lazily rocked his hips, shuddered at the sensation of them gliding against one another.

Bane watched each movement he made under him, and he felt his gaze burning into his body. He seemed interested in the way Barsad’s toes would curl and dig into their bedding, how he would arch his back and pant out his name. He felt himself drawing close and closed his eyes, licking over his dry lips.

“Barsad.” Bane’s voice was a rasp, and he arched up in response to it, felt it send a fresh spark of need into him. “Open your eyes. I wish to see them when I draw your climax from you.”

His eyes snapped open obediently even when he felt a fleeting sense of embarrassment over how quickly he tried to obey Bane. He could see in his brother’s eyes, though, how much it pleased him.

“You would submit to no one like you do me.” It was an observation, a compliment, and a command wrapped into one. The only thing it was not was a question. “There is no shame in it. You please me with this gift, Barsad, my lamb.”

The honesty and desire in Bane’s voice broke him. He cried out and his hips jerked as his orgasm left him in a rush of hot pleasure. He dug his nails into his brother’s shoulders as he continued to stroke them both, forcibly drawing all he could from him until he growled and his cock painted Barsad’s stomach with heated splashes of come.

He fell asleep that night with his body still warmed from pleasure and feeling as though he was glowing with bliss, his brother’s scent thick on his skin.

The next day, he saw his brother kill a man with his bare hands and he ran.

It was not as though he did not know the league courted with death. It was one thing to know, and another to see the hands that had stroked over his throat tenderly the night before crushing through the windpipe another. He was stronger, now, but he did not get far without the proper equipment to scale down the mountain.

Talia found him, tucked away in an outcropping of rocks, half frozen. She shook her head at him and built a fire, pulled on him roughly until he was seated in front of it.

“Why have you chosen to burden him? He has enough things on his mind, Barsad.”

He looked down into the fire that was just now beginning to thaw his fingers. “It would sound ridiculous to you, sister.” He knew of how she grew. Killing another man would not seem so bad a thing to her. It was not that he didn’t think what Bane did was without reason, he did not think his brother would simply kill a man for no reason, but it had chilled something in him to see it. To realize that it might one day be expected of him.

“Do you really wish so badly to leave?” Talia watched him carefully, and he wondered then if she would let him go if he did. He studied her eyes and decided she would. That made it harder for him, and his shoulders slumped with the tired sort of ache he had felt in himself for a long time.

“I do not.”

Her fingers touched to his shoulders, a rare sign of camaraderie, and her eyes were beyond her years as they watched him.

“It will grow easier in time.”

When he returned, Bane pinned him to the bedding onto his belly, growled in aggravation. He squirmed around on it, unsure of what was to become of him. The coolness of his brother’s mask touched between his shoulder blades and he shivered, still cold from the outside.

That made Bane still. Neither spoke for some time until Bane lay out over him, crushed him down onto the bedding. His hand curled around Barsad’s arm and held onto him and Barsad finally felt warm.   
  
“You worried me, lamb. Why did you leave?”

He sighed and settled, letting himself have peace in his head for a moment. Bane worried. He was not angry, at least not angry in a way that meant he would hurt him, only frustrated over not understanding his sudden vanishing. “I saw your execution,” he admitted quietly.

Bane made a noise of understanding. “You were not prepared to see such a thing. You are still young.”

“I am not so young,” he protested, feeling the need to point it out even in this instance. “I am of age. That does not mean someone is ready to kill.”

“It is a necessary evil. That is what we are. We cleanse the scourge from the earth.”

“I do not think I can.”

“Most do not until they do.”


	5. Chapter 5

It did not become easier to watch, but he made himself do it. He sat calmly on the floor of the main hall when he knew someone would be sent to be executed. It was not always Bane, many of the members took turns with the burden, as well. He saw Kojo slit someone’s throat one day and did not let himself react. When another member he trained with, Olivia, cut off the head of another, he did not jump, even when it rolled towards him. When it was Bane’s turn, he sat closest and schooled himself to remain the stillest, to not flinch. This was their work, and even if he was uncertain he could ever do it, even if it meant remaining only a student, he would not hide from it.

It was only a few weeks after when he woke up in the morning feeling an unpleasantly familiar hotness aching through his limbs. A tremor ran through his body, and when he slid his thighs against one another, he could feel a rush a slickness dripping from him. His loose pants had been kicked off while he slept. He moaned out in need and sought out the pleasingly strong alpha scent that permeated the bedding, rubbing his cheek against it. It smelled so wonderful.

It took him a few moments to even remember Bane’s name, to realize that he was not in the sewers and that he did not have to languish away there, unfulfilled and in such need that it hurt. He curled into a ball under the blanket and called out for him, his voice sounding choked off. Bane was usually there when he woke, the bedding was still warm beside him and he burrowed against that section of it, breathing deeply before he gave in and took hold of his rigid shaft, stroking over it and feeling nothing that meant relief, just the steadily increasing boiling of his blood.

The door opened and he snapped up to sit, relieved when it was his brother. He tossed off the blankets and resisted the urge to spread his legs and demand he take him then and there, though barely. As it was, he could not take his hand off of himself, eying him with hunger.

“Bane…” He could not keep the desperation out of his voice. Bane sat down beside him, far too calm.

“I am here, lamb. I smelled it coming to you while you slept. I needed to get you medication. I assume you do not want me breeding any little ones into you any time soon.” A shiver ran down his spine at the idea. His instincts told him that that was exactly what he desired; Bane thick and hot and breeding him until he was swollen with his child. His senses won out, though, and he was grateful beyond belief for his brother’s quick thinking. He swallowed down the bitter drink he held quickly, tossed the cup aside in his haste.

With Bane so close, he felt a fresh wave of desire hit him and he nearly pounced him, rubbing himself against his body and licking at his skin. He sucked a dark red mark at the hollow of Bane’s throat and it earned a low laugh and a groan.

“I can smell how much you need me, even though the mask.”   
  
He whimpered in relief when Bane’s hand went to his ass, his finger testing the wetness there, stroking along his hole and making him try to snap his hips down greedily to take it in.

“So wet for me, lamb.”   
  
He bobbed his head in an eager agreement, choking on his relief when Bane worked his fingers into him, gave him a little measure of the fullness he so desperately needed. He couldn’t stop himself from licking over his skin, tasting his sweat and begging softly to be filled, swearing to him that he was ready, that he would do anything if he would just give him this. He knew Bane was stretching him open, preparing him. Even with his heat, his brother was large and they had not done this act, had decided to wait until Barsad was slick and receptive for it.

He tried to move to his hands and knees, press his chest against the pallet so Bane could take him, could rut him. Bane turned him onto his back, ignoring his uncomfortable squirm, his protest.

“That is merely your heat, speaking. I will have you how I can watch you,” Bane informed him, and Barsad could not argue, not when Bane was undressed, when he could see how hard and thick he was, his own precome was dripping down in eagerness from taking in his scent. Bane cupped his ass and he wriggled, nearly sobbed in need when he was put into a proper position, when he could feel the hot press of Bane’s cock against him, stretching him wide, working into him with a long powerful push of his hips. He bottomed out inside of him, and at last Barsad felt relief, beautiful relief and fullness, heat that scorched him inside, and Bane’s cock shifting within him.

“Move,” he hissed when it felt like he would surely die if Bane did not.  

There was a dark chuckle, a pleasured growl, and gone were their gentle explorations of before. Bane pounded into him with a snarl, a twist of his hips that made him see stars and scrabble to cling to the bedding below. This, this was what heat with an alpha felt like, and he understood now why so many omegas loved and hated it. He could scarcely think, scarcely breathe beyond desperate gasps as Bane rutted into him. The slick pistoning of his cock felt perfect, and he was spilling out onto his own belly in moments, but he did not soften. Bane seemed to be driven by the sight of it, by the scent of his come, and he held his thighs open, leaned over him so that he was open further, able to be driven into deeper, his thighs pressed tight against his chest.

Bane rode him through another climax that made him keen and beat his fists into the bedding. He felt how his thrusts became more stuttering and he knew he was close, that he would swell soon, could feel the very beginnings of a deeper stretch inside of his wet, worked-open hole. He clamped down in it eagerly, came so hard that the room went dim as Bane shoved into him, growled possessively and stretched him wide with his knot.

Bane’s sides were heaving in effort, his eyes closed and his hands forcing bruises onto his thighs, he clutched him so tightly. He laughed blissfully, feeling his head clear for a moment as they were locked tightly together. Bane cracked an eye open, his breathing still heavy pushes through his mask, but he looked fondly amused.

“Do I entertain you?”

He shook his head. “I simply was struck by how good this could feel. I never thought I would find it to be anything but a burden.” He reached to touch Bane’s head, smoothed over his scalp. “Thank you.”

Bane made a noise of contentment. “Do not thank me yet, lamb. You may come to hate it once more before it is over.”

He did not, but it was a near thing. Clarity gave way to need once more and Bane took him again and again, until he was dripping from him, until he was sore and aching but still begging for him not to stop filling him, not to pull away. He ended up on his belly in the end simply because he could no longer hold himself up. He murmured contently as Bane ground into him, churning up his insides as he twisted his hips. He was surely too tired to come but he shuddered out and spilled onto the sheets once more when Bane swelled into him again.

He fell asleep, and when he awoke begged again. It took a full day for heat to finally leave him, and he lay out on their bedding feeling limp and useless. Bane’s fingers stroked through his soaked hair and he sighed, ignored the aches and rolled onto his side so he could curl around him.

“I think it is finally finished.” His voice was hoarse from his shouts and he felt bruising all along his body, aches from how Bane had held him in place. He noted with some satisfaction the scratches and marks he had left on Bane’s back, his arms and shoulders. They had left many marks on one another.

Things were sour in the league after. It had been clear that Bane had taken him during his heat and yet still held the same devotion to Talia. He was pulled aside, questioned. When he did not answer, it did not look favorable for any of them, but he had found quickly that his loyalty was with his brother, with Talia. He told him this on the night he was ordered to leave, and Bane gave him the option to stay.

“Do not be such a fool. Clearly, I am going with you as it is just as clear Talia will follow.” He calmly rolled up their bedding in preparation.

Bane hesitated at that. He was agitated, his fingers fidgeted as a sad sort of anger rolled through his body. Barsad wished he could better comfort it. “She should not. She is young, and should be with her father.”

“She is sixteen, now, and wiser than most twice her age. She found her father halfway across the world with no resources, she chose to come back to find you. She will make her own choice, and I know it will be with you.” He would stake his life on it.

He felt Bane’s hand squeeze his shoulder in silent gratitude.  “You do not need to come with me, though. You would be treated better here than you would be out there.”

It was true; for all of Ra’s al Ghul’s faults, omegas were treated with respect, here. He could stay, train, go to the rooms when a heat struck him and have an alpha work him through it with no strings attached. When had such an idea become so cold sounding?

“My place is with you.”

Talia found them several months later, doing work halfway across the globe. Bane had found work with a local warlord, guarding shipment trucks, Barsad with him. They had decided the best thing would be for him to pass as a beta, as Bane’s lover. It worked, and when heat struck him, they left under the guise of business and slipped off into the forest where Bane rutted him as wildly as any animal found in it. Talia found them then, in an awkward tangle of limbs. It was mortifying enough that even Bane seemed embarrassed by it. Talia merely seemed entertained, reminded them that she had seen much worse in the pit.

They gathered resources as they worked, enough to pay to synthesize the chemicals for Bane’s mask, to eat and have lodgings. It was a strange exile. Talia felt it would not last long if she left with them, but Bane was not so certain. During their time there, Talia went through her dynamic change, a beta, and Barsad could not help but feel relieved for her.

The attack came unexpectedly.

There was always danger in the work they were doing. The man they were under was cruel, the sort of man that they would have disposed of before, but out of necessity he lived. He discovered Talia with them, and his lecherous greed for her was soon clear. He offered to buy her. Bane nearly split him in two. They left, after; even they could not ward off an entire army of armed men.

They were followed. The man had decided that if he could not have her, none would.

It was an ambush in the woods. Talia had gone ahead to find firewood while he changed the chemicals in Bane’s mask, a task that he had needed to learn quickly and efficiently after their expulsion. He went to check on her and saw her in the clearing, two bodies at her feet and grappling fiercely with another man, her fingers sunk into his eyeballs. The man screamed when she bashed his head against a rock.

It drowned out the noise of another man creeping behind her with his gun drawn.

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the forest. Bane’s footsteps were thunderous when he ran to the clearing, stealth gone in his haste.

Barsad lowered his Beretta, his arms trembling.

It had been a simple thing, much more simple than he had thought it would be.

Talia wiped her hands on one of the dead men’s shirts. Bane took the gun from him carefully when his hands did not stop shaking. “It was an excellent shot, Barsad.”

It had been, neatly between the man’s eyes. He had fired his gun in practice before, of course, but it had never been done in the heat of a moment. His mind had hyper-focused, his world narrowed in those microseconds of time.

“Thank you, Barsad,” she touched his cheek, “for your sacrifice.”

He shook lightly in Bane’s arms that night. Bane did not understand, but he kept a warm arm around him anyway, sifted his fingers through his hair.

Talia was correct, though. It got easier with time.

Eight years was a very long time to grow accustomed to such a thing.


	6. Chapter 6

When Talia’s father died, she grieved, and they grieved with her. He was a good man, even with his flaws. Barsad had not known entirely the work he had been doing in Gotham, but when he found out, he felt a sense of relief in himself to know that his Robin would have been sent away from there. They were welcomed back into the league with Talia as their new leader. It was good to see old comrades again. Many had felt Ra’s al Ghul’s decision had been a hasty one regarding them, and reuniting was a balm to some of the pain of their leader’s demise along with Talia’s plan to finish her father’s work.

When the proposal for infiltration and occupation was discussed, he spoke how he might help, his knowledge of the city. Surprised eyes looked at him, and he realized that he had never told his brethren where he had come from before he met with them.

Barsad felt warm from the approval in his brother’s eyes when he helped him map out the sewers, when they set up Talia’s history as Miranda Tate and he helped school her in what she would need to know. Eight years was a long time for her to leave them, but it was a necessary thing. He saw in Bane’s eyes how he missed her. How absence only made him think of her more. He understood. His heart still ached for Robin. His memory of him fuzzy but warm, something to mull over quietly at night when he was wrapped up in Bane’s arms and knowing he would never be faulted for it.

His fingers did not shake when he pulled any trigger, now. It became something that was done without flinching, quick work that furthered their cause. With more experience under his belt, he soon shot finer than any in their group, and Kojo had teasingly nicknamed him “Deadshot.” It stuck, and when Bane one day told him in the privacy of their room that he admired his skill, he was not sure he had ever felt prouder.

He used his skill to protect his brethren. He was a watchful eye at his brother’s back at every mission, and he felt honored when he named him as his second in command, though he worried it would be seen as favoritism. He worried over nothing, it seemed. All agreed, as his gun and steady hand had saved all of them at least once.

As plans came to culmination, they discussed the logistics. It was no secret that many would not make it back from this mission. However, for the league itself to end would be senseless. A list was made of those willing to face Gotham’s end with it, their own on it as they knew their sisters would be. It was sent to Talia. She sent it back and told them to not be foolish.

_“I have not been forced to witness your sentimentality over each other simply to see it be blown to pieces.”_

Bane had read that part of the letter sent back aloud in their room, frustration clear in his tone.

“We are just as willing as she. I did not lift her up from the pit only to watch her turn to ash without me.”

He sent her back a letter detailing this. It was the first true argument they had had, a battle that ended in a draw. All of them would live or none of them. Barsad hoped for all, but would be content with none if it meant they would die together. He told Bane so, and they spent the night in a heated sort of passion that came from the threat of it ending.

“Does it feel strange to be back here?” Bane asked when they finally arrived in Gotham. It had been so many years, but the city felt just as terrible as when he had left it. He would not miss it when it burned.

“Somewhat. It has been so long that it is like a dream.”

His stomach fluttered when Bane’s hand slipped under his scarf, pressed into the claiming mark there. It had been decided that live or die they would bond. It had been started cycles ago, and Barsad had felt bliss when it had finally taken, when Bane had sunk his teeth into him and he had simply known they were joined, had felt his power under his skin.

The bliss did not come without a price, though.  He remembered and treasured each bit of pain his brother gave him to make it take.

_His heat had been exceptionally strong that cycle. It felt like somehow it grew stronger each one he spent with Bane, who worked his body with such savage possessiveness that at times he could only cling to him, the bedding, the wall, anything, and cry out for more. They were now knotted, a brief moment of peace between takings as Bane was locked deep inside of him. Barsad was still panting as he lay out on his stomach on their pallet with Bane covering him. He smiled slightly at the feeling of Bane’s callused fingers stroking over his flushed cheek and parted lips._

_They left him and his brow furrowed in confusion over the sound of a slight hiss, a pained breath. When Bane spoke it sounded different, soft with no mechanical echo that his mask left._

_“Barsad, lamb, let me have you.”_

_He gasped at the feeling of lips against his neck, scarred and strangely perfect. He could feel Bane’s body against him, muscles tight with pain._

_They had discussed this and decided it would happen when the time felt right. It had never felt more right. He reached back and touched Bane’s side, feeling the wounded breathes he was taking for him. “I am yours.” He promised. “I am always yours, Bane”_

_He felt Bane’s growl rumble through him, the sharp pain of Bane biting down roughly enough to break his skin, mark him, and he shuddered from it. It lasted only an instant before he could hear Bane’s quick hands working to pull his mask back on, the sharp inhales of breath to pull the medication into his lungs. When Bane un-swelled enough for him to turn around, he was pulled on top of him. He nuzzled against his neck and bit him in return._

It took many cycles. Each one, Bane did not let him see his face when he pulled the mask off and worked through the torment of it to renew the mark he’d left on him. Each time, he felt them drawing closer, knitting together as they exchanged bites and claimed one another. They argued over letting Barsad see him unmasked. Bane hated the very idea.

_He closed his eyes and pleasure ran down his spine at the feeling of Bane touching over the mark on his neck. He had already bitten into the mark on Bane’s chest during their earlier joinings, and he could see the purpling around it, the bit of red that oozed from it still. It made him smirk slightly._

_“It is not something you should ever have to see.”_

_Barsad snorted. “And why can you not get it through your thick head that it is something I WISH to see?” He ducked his head to avoid the cuff to it that he knew was coming._

_Bane made a noise that was half annoyed half amusement at being thwarted. The moments of quiet between couplings, when there was nothing to do but touch one another and speak, were always the most treasured between them, and the most honest. “It pains me. I don’t want you to ever see me weak,” he finally admitted and sounded regretful._

_“Pain does not make you weak. Fighting through pain makes you strong.” He ran his fingers over the mask. “Will you let me finally see you?”_

_“If it is something you so desperately wish to see.”_

_He nodded in agreement and let Bane take off the mask. He didn’t touch, but he admired the scars and marring there. It only cemented to him how strong Bane was even when his pain when written all over his face. When Bane seemed to almost hesitate to renew the bite, as if Barsad seeing his face could ever scare him off, he tilted his neck and tugged at his shoulders to urge him on._

_His teeth sank into his marking and it felt as though a small part of the world was shifting under them. He felt dizzy, weak, for a few long moments. Bane groaned out, his fingers digging into his arms so tightly it cut off his circulation as he held onto him. They had completed their bond, and in that moment, pain could not touch Bane even without the mask. He felt scarred lips suddenly against his, quick and desperate, knowing the moment would be fleeting. His own blood met his taste buds and he memorized Bane’s lips, his mouth, his tongue, knowing he might never receive the chance again._

_It passed quickly, and Bane looked near wrecked from it, pain crashing back down onto him from the euphoria. Barsad helped fit the mask back onto him, pressed a kiss to his head and encouraged him to breathe. When the worst passed, Bane took his hand and rubbed over his knuckles._

_“My lamb.”_

_“Yours,” he agreed and ordered him to take him again when his heat kicked up._

They had agreed to hide the marks in Gotham. Barsad would pass as a beta as he usually did when their missions took them into the general public. It was a far simpler thing to not be under the scrutinizing gaze omegas found themselves under. He had long ago accepted his dynamic, and on the nights he was warm and held possessively by Bane he could even admit to himself that he for the most part liked it. He tugged his scarf back into place, glanced at Bane with a smile in his eyes that he knew his brother would see.

The scarf had been a gift to him from Bane, something to wear to cover the claim mark. He had watched him work the thin strands of wool with his own fingers at night before they rested. It had been given to him almost as an afterthought, as though he had not worked for hours on it. It was a gift, and Bane was not used to giving them. He accepted it and laughed at the surprised noise Bane made when he wrapped his arms around him and tugged him to bed.

He nearly cringed when several of the other men donned similar ones to his own.

_“For solidarity, brother,” Kojo told him with a grin, tucking his own into his shirt pocket._

_“To torment me, no doubt,” Barsad couldn’t help but laugh ruefully._

_Kojo patted his back. “Only a little. Truly, though, we are all family, here. We know you wear yours to cover what should never have to be hidden. So we will make it a badge of honor.”_

_He felt a tightness in his throat at that and clasped his hands over Kojo’s shoulders in gratitude. “Thank you, brother.”_

_“Well, we must keep Bane’s lamb content,” Kojo whispered teasingly, and he groaned that he had ever been foolish enough to let the name for him slip out one night after the exhilaration of a shoot-out and too many drinks had loosened his tongue with Kojo._

_“If you say it again, you will eat one of my bullets,” he promised. Kojo only laughed._

“Will we be able to see her soon?” he asked hopefully, though he knew most likely it was unfeasible. He knew Bane longed for it, as well. He could not imagine how much she would have grown in eight years.

“I have sent word to her. I am certain something will work out.” He could hear the same measure of longing in his brother’s tone. “For now, we will be dealing with our supposed employer.”

Barsad chuckled at that. John Daggett, a man who thought money bought him power. He was useful, for now, but such things would end quickly enough. “I am certain you look forward to meeting such an upstanding citizen.”

“Of course.” Bane gave him an amused look and held onto his coat thoughtfully. “I have the same affinity for him as the rats we are sure to find in the sewers.”

“There are fewer rats in the sewers than you will ever find in the upper crust of Gotham,” he quickly assured him.


	7. Chapter 7

John trudged down the darkened streets of Gotham, mostly ignored, save for his bodyguard who stuck out ridiculously. He would have been able to move how he wanted in the more ‘urbanized’ sections of Gotham and never once been noticed if it wasn’t for that jackass. It was a rule, though. It was to keep him safe from harm, from untrusted alphas.

It sometimes felt like it was a way for Phillip to remind him that he owned him, no matter where he went.

He didn’t need the reminder. He had the mark on his neck as proof enough of that. That and the way he could feel him underneath his skin. Sometimes it was comforting, to know that there was someone out there feeling him, other times it was overwhelming and it almost made him nauseous.

It wasn’t so much that Phillip was a terrible alpha. Phillip provided well for him. He didn’t have any needs that weren’t met. He was much better off than most people in Gotham. John was just a terrible omega.

He pulled his jacket around himself a little more, tucking his hands into his pockets. It wasn’t a bad night out for a walk. He knew he shouldn’t be out too late, Phillip hated that, but he also knew that he was supposed to be out late with business that night, so really, it didn’t hurt anything. Business had been worrying John lately, not that it was really any of HIS business. He didn’t like Daggett, though. The guy was a real asshole. He’d sat through enough company dinners to recognize that.

He’d also been dragged to enough private meetings in Daggett’s home to know that the man’s business practices were less than scrupulous and were just getting worse the longer he practiced them. He might have done a little digging, a little snooping, then, when he was supposed to be playing the good little bonded omega and getting along with other omegas that had been brought along.

Maybe he’d found an awful lot of dirty laundry around Daggett’s home. It worried him. There wasn’t much he could do about it except for call in a few anonymous tips. Those were hard to do, though. Phillip didn’t track his calls or anything, that would be crazy, but he was the one who got the phone bill every month. It would look weird seeing him calling the police a couple of times each month.

Phoning in tips meant payphones, and payphones meant cash. It was almost funny; John had more money now than he knew what to do with, but none of it was his, and that money was in the form of plastic cards that WERE watched. Phillip wasn’t cheap, or stingy, but he was meticulous. He had no problem with John spending money on outfits, furniture, spa trips, things that kept him comfortable and kept up appearances. Those were acceptable expenses.

What wasn’t acceptable was slipping out and spending the money on things for the boys’ home. He’d convinced Phillip to donate a good tax-deductible monthly stipend to St. Swithin’s. It looked good for everyone. It especially looked good that it was to the boys’ home that John had once belonged to. It was like a storybook romance. A young omega swept off their feet by strong, rich alpha, Phillip Stryver, and together they gave back to those humble upbringings. The press ate that shit up.

It was when he went behind Phillip’s back that things got ugly. He’d done it once, and the consequences had been harsh and immediate. He could almost have admired the practicality of it if it weren’t directed towards him.

_He’d known he wasn’t supposed to do it. Phillip had told him a sensible amount that he would donate the St. Swithin’s. It was really reasonable. It was just that when he’d gone to visit he couldn’t help but notice how threadbare some of the blankets were getting, how none of the basketballs even really bounced anymore. It was an impulse, and he wanted to go home and tell Phillip, apologize and explain, but he’d already known when he got home._

_“There are rules for a reason, John.”_

_He sat on the bed and picked at the corner of the sheet until it got a disapproving look from Phillip, an almost imperceptible tic of his lips down into a frown. He stilled his fingers, made himself fold his hands in his lap._

_“I know I just—”_

_He was cut off by a sharp slap. It stung against his cheek. Nothing hard. Nothing he couldn’t take. Just enough to let him know he was out of line. He bit into his lip and quieted down._

_“There are rules for a reason, John. If you can’t follow them, then you will be reprimanded until you learn better.”_

_He hadn’t made the same mistake again._

It wasn’t that Phillip was a bad alpha. John was just a really shitty omega. He needed constant reminders of how he should be acting. He didn’t beat him or anything, John wasn’t some battered omega. He never touched him like that beyond some slaps when he was way out of line. There were other ways to correct him. He was lucky to have him.

He remembered his first real heat. How terrible it had been. They’d brought in an alpha for it while he was in the program waiting, and he’d pleaded for it. He couldn’t even remember his face. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually seen his face or if he’d spent the days on his knees and hoarse from screaming. When he got out of his heat, he decided that he never wanted some nameless, faceless person fucking into him again. It hurt too much, not when he knew how it could really feel to be touched.

He’d practically begged to be able to look at the possible contracts. He technically wasn’t supposed to be able to go with an alpha in Gotham, but Phillip thought he was interesting enough to pull strings for. He never really understood what attracted him, orphans were in that year or something maybe, but it didn’t matter.

He’d wanted to stay in Gotham for stupid reasons. He knew he wasn’t coming back, that he was long gone, but he didn’t feel like he could just leave. What if he came back and John wasn’t there? How would he find him?

He’d signed the standard bonding contract with Phillip almost right away. It was the usual stuff, meant to protect everyone involved, to say that he was consenting to the bonding. In return, Phillip was expected to provide for him to the best of his abilities. The bond itself would take care of the rest.

It did, too. He’d been nervous as shit about it, practically shaking after his first experience. It hadn’t been bad, though. Phillip actually wanted to see his face, and as advertised his heat had taken care of the rest, made everything feel ok. It had only taken a couple of cycles for a bond to form between them. John wondered if it was because he felt so lonely.

Phillip didn’t seem to have much sexual interest in him outside of heats, aside from the occasional rare ‘nooner’ when business was clearly stressing him, which was fine by John. He took care of him regardless, and he didn’t ask for much in return, just respect, obedience.

If John could give him the thing he REALLY wanted, maybe he’d be happier with him. It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying. He’d been to nearly every renowned fertility doctor in the country. He followed everything they said, took every pill they suggested before, during and after his heats. It just wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t that Phillip was a bad alpha, it was that John was a fucking terrible omega who couldn’t seem to get pregnant.

_He glanced down at the stick again and bit his lip. Just one more little bar. Just one more little bar on that fucking stick was all he was asking for. He didn’t want to have to tell Phillip he’d failed again._

_One bar._

_He worried at his lip some more and looked at the bathroom door. It wasn’t like sitting in there on the toilet was going to do anything. He retied his robe and slipped back into the bedroom. He didn’t have to say it out loud anymore, apparently. Phillip glanced over at him and stood from the bed, giving the back of his shoulder a slight pat before he began to get dressed for work._

_“I’m sorry.” He was trying. He wanted to be able to do this for him._

_“We’ll try again next cycle,” Phillip remarked calmly as he knotted his tie._

_“What if—”_

_“Then we will try again. I hardly think I would have gotten where I am today without persistence, John,” Phillip cut him off, clearly not wanted to hear what John didn’t want to say anyway._

_“I was thinking…” He sat down on the edge of the bed nervously. “There’s a lot of kids out there that could use a good home…”_

_“I already have one orphan that isn’t proving to be of much use to me. I hardly see what good a second would do.” He left quickly, and John spent the day in bed._

_He’d apologized later. He was stressed. Work was hard. John knew he couldn’t understand how much Phillip went through, and they would just keep trying._

It was his one fucking job, and he couldn’t do it no matter how hard he tried. So he tried to make himself useful in other ways. Tried to make sure the house was kept up well, tried to keep the less legal business dealings and partners away from his mate. That was where the anonymous tips came in. He’d scrounge up some money that wasn’t plastic and put in some calls when he could manage to ditch his bodyguard for a few minutes.

He worried sometimes what Phillip would do if he ever figured out that John had been the whistleblower for a lot of companies that were doing bad business. He would never do anything against Phillip, he was his mate, but he did some dealings with bad people for that asshole boss of his and, well, no one ever thought about the omegas they brought with them to conduct business. They were just trophy bondings, no threat there.

He winced a little to himself. There he went being an ungrateful little shit again. How many years had it been, and he still went down here whenever he was in a mood? He tried not to do it, but when he felt low he always ended up here. Sometimes he felt low a lot. He didn’t get angry anymore, just tired.

He was tired tonight after Phillip had taken him out to Wayne Manor to listen to the commissioner speak and to mingle. It had been nice enough. He’d kind of been hoping to get a peek at Bruce Wayne, but he didn’t see him anywhere. He had his own theories about Bruce Wayne that he’d love to see the man’s reactions to.

Phillip had more business that evening, and insisted he ride home with Daggett and company. That had been tiring. The man loved to hear himself talk, and John just wanted him to go away. He’d spent most of the limousine ride hearing him go on about ‘some beta bitch.’ Miranda Tate. He’d seen her but hadn’t met her. He decided he liked her, and pretended to sip at the champagne that had been poured for them.

He sighed and watched the water rushing out of the outflows from the sewers. He didn’t ever actually go INTO the sewers, God only knew what his bodyguard would think of that. This was as far as he went. It was pure self-pity and he knew it. It never could have lasted. It was selfish to even think about. He’d told Phillip why he was in the program once, and he’d given him a look of half amusement half pity.

_“That’s why omegas need alphas, John, to keep them from acting foolishly. You end up in the sewers otherwise, literally, in your case.”_

He’d given him a pat on the head when John snorted out a short laugh and he’d left for work. In the sewers, indeed. Too bad the sewers where the happiest moments he’d ever had in his life. He was constantly torn between trying to forget those times and trying to cling to them and lock them up tight inside of his chest. Either one hurt like fuck. Neither one was fair to him or Phillip.

He had to learn to move on, but he’d never been good at doing that.

It usually calmed him down to watch that rushing water, to remember Barsad and how they’d spent their days covered in dust and working to the bone, their nights huddled close and rubbing against one another for warmth. Sometimes it riled him, though, made him feel a spark of that old anger that used to rip through him without warning.

He heard his bodyguard, one day he was going to learn the guy’s fucking name, clear his throat impatiently. He was an idiot but not a terrible guy. Technically, they shouldn’t be out this late, and he’d gone out with him anyway when he’d said he needed a walk. He didn’t have a curfew, there were just reasonable hours to be out at night walking, and this probably wasn’t one of them.

He nodded a little then turned when something caught his eye in the rushing water.

“Did you—Shit!” He ran into the water. A body. He knew he’d seen a body rushing out of the pipes. The water was freezing as he sloshed through it. His bodyguard wasn’t far behind, trying to order him to get back in case it was dangerous, but there was a GUY there, and John grabbed him up, pulled his head out from under the water.

“Call 911!”

He was bleeding. He ripped off his jacket and tried to put pressure on the wound, keep the guy afloat. He looked blue in the lips, mumbling strange things. John tried to shush him gently, told him to keep his strength up, but he kept going so John listened and waited for paramedics.

He looked familiar, but John had been too worried to think about it. It wasn’t until the ambulance came and lead him away that he realized that it was the police commissioner. He was chilled down to the bone then, sopping wet. His bodyguard urged him to come out of the water. He spared a glance back at the drainage pipes.

What the hell was going on down there?


	8. Chapter 8

They took a cab home. He ended up finally learning that his bodyguard’s name was Theodore Parker. He was in fact not allowed to call him Teddy, but he could call him Ted. He was surprised when Ted told him he’d done a really good thing today, had made sure to get him a blanket from the paramedics, and made the cabbie blast the heat as high as it would go. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy, after all.

He knew he wasn’t going to get in before Phillip, and he was worried he might be upset with him. He was surprised to see him sitting in the kitchen area, nursing his head with a cold pack.

“What happened?” His worry turned to true concern and he pulled out a chair beside him, tried to get him to let him see.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Phillip pulled the pack away and he could see the swell of a bruise there.

“Yeah, well, be careful. You’re not as hard-headed as I am.”

Phillip made a slightly amused sound at that. “You’re right. I’m not.” He pressed the cold pack back against his head and his eyes focused on John. “Why are you sopping wet?”

“Oh, I uh, it’s a long story.”

“Get changed, then. You’re going to freeze.”

He nodded and went to go change into bedclothes. Phillip followed, took some aspirin and John told him about what had happened.

Phillip stilled and looked at him. “You need to stop going down to the sewers, John.”

“I don’t go down TO them,” he assured him. “I was just going for a walk. I needed some air.”

“John.” Phillip’s face was stern, serious, the kind that reminded him that he shouldn’t be arguing. “You will not go down there again. Not for a walk, not for anything. I will not repeat myself.”

His stomach flip-flopped. “Ok. I won’t.” He didn’t need Phillip to keep him in line.

“Good. Go to sleep.”

____________________

“You are the worst type of bastard. May you rot in a hell of my own choosing,” Barsad spat out at him venomously.

Bane only chuckled fondly and dug his fingers roughly enough into Barsad’s muscles to make him hiss, forcing loose knots of tension that came from being still for hours, damp and crouched, waiting for his target.  He watched Barsad clench his fists and beat them against his thighs in an effort to keep quiet.

“And what sort of hell would you choose for me?”

“Something truly vile,” Barsad promised, and Bane could hear how he clenched his teeth. “Maggots would wriggle through your veins and your head would be hoisted up on a pike nightly.”

Bane thumped firmly on his back with an amused sound when it jolted his lamb forward a few times and made him mutter a curse. “I am sure you would make it excruciating for me.”

“You would know only pain and displeasure,” Barsad agreed and stood stiffly, rolling his shoulders, stretching out his lean limbs. He dropped back down onto their cot with a sigh.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He ran a hand down his leg. The night had not gone as well as it could have, but their plans were still proceeding as they should. It had been wise to have Barsad watch from above over the proceedings with their thief. His skill had proven enough of a distraction to prevent things from becoming difficult. The commissioner’s unexpected presence had seemed to be a hindrance at first, but what he had found in his pocket had been quite enlightening.

Barsad took the letter from the table and read through it again. “You think it will truly be of use? I can hardly find it surprising that the commissioner is just as corrupt as the rest of this rotted city.”

“I think when we rebuild, it will prove to be quite fortuitous that the commissioner decided to pay us a visit, after all.”

Barsad nodded and studied the papers intently for a few moments more before he leaned against him, seeming worn. It was not surprising; Gotham seemed to wear on his lamb as no other place on the map seemed able. He had traveled with him through sandstorms, blizzards, monsoons, and rebellions and it was shaken off, but this city’s corruption and memories seemed to grind into Barsad’s bones. He could feel the sensation of almost sluggishness under his skin that was not of his own body, but the feelings passed through their bond.

Everyone’s bond was different, the strength, the severity of it. For some it was a scar on their flesh and a promise, nothing more. For others, if one died the other was sure to follow. Then there was the full range in between where some felt the feelings of their mate, were able to sense when they were close. He often felt like he could feel Barsad’s very emotions running through his veins along with his own. It could be an overwhelming exhilaration at times.

“You are tired. You should rest.”

Barsad stiffened beside him. “I am not so weak that a few hours in the cold means I must be put to bed,” he snapped.

Bane paused to consider that, turning to meet Barsad’s gaze as he looked at him with flashes of annoyance in his usually passive eyes.

“And when have I ever considered you weak?”

It took the bristle out of him. He sighed and went lax against him again, rubbed his fingers over his eyelids to wipe away the soreness Bane knew would be there from hours of scouting. “Never. I am sorry. I fear I am letting this place get to me more than I thought it would. Old memories.”

Bane placed a hand onto this shoulder and lightly ran his thumb against the bond scar there. Barsad sighed softly and looked up to him, a slight smile in his eyes that he knew was reflected in his own.

“You do not have to stay here. There is much you could do from the outside.” He knew Barsad would reject the idea the instant it was suggested, and he grunted slightly when his fingers shoved purposefully into a tender spot between his ribs.

“Do not be a fool.”

“I am merely listing your options.” There were alphas that could work Barsad through his heat, ones that he knew his brother would trust. He felt a possessive streak rise up in him at the thought, but it could be quelled if that was what his brother needed.

He grabbed up Barsad’s wrists before he could shove again, giving him a warning glare. It was merely met with a nasty smirk. “You will never be rid of me.”

“I can think of worst fates.” He rubbed between Barsad’s fingers, feeling the delicate bones and strong tendons and, not for the first time, marveling that this was his to take, freely given. Talia had become his out of necessity, had known him before his marring and refused to leave him behind after. Barsad was beautiful, he could have had his pick of equally enticing alphas in the league and his heart chose him. It was humbling.

Barsad chuckled at his words and climbed into his lap. Their cot and equipment could be sectioned off for privacy by a few hanging cloths if needed, though it was late and others were either on patrol or finding their own rest and pleasures.  Even if that were not the case, among their brethren—not the recruited men found by Daggett that had been foolish enough to come to him—there was little need to be concerned about being seen. There was often little privacy among them, and all knew that they were bonded.

They were hardly the only pairing in the group. When there was only one room to lay out the bedding of many members, the soft sighs of pleasure and quiet moans from the bedding beside them were respectfully overlooked.

He cupped Barsad’s hips and growled in pleasure when he dipped down to lap wetly over the bonding mark on his chest. He placed a sucking kiss there and flicked his eyes mischievously up at him. “When will the next phase begin?”

He lowered his eyes in annoyance and pulled Barsad’s lips back against the mark, earning a throaty chuckle. “Soon. Not so soon that you should stop what you are doing.”

Barsad nipped, scraping his teeth wickedly against the scarring, and it made pleasure pool in his belly, made his cock swell eagerly, and Barsad was quick to wriggle in his lap until his own rising erection was being ground against him. He could not feel the heat of him through their clothing, but he reveled in the way Barsad’s throat bobbed, the eagerness with which he began to rock against him.

Barsad’s lips left his chest, they were shining and swollen already from the attention he had been giving his mark. He licked over them slowly, purposefully, knowing how Bane could not resist watching them.

“I want to ride you.”

His lamb knew exactly how to get what he desired from him. He panted hotly against his neck when they’d tugged off their clothing and Bane prepared him, made him nearly gnaw at his neck in frustration when he insisted on making sure he was opened up properly, working loose his tight ring of muscles with care. It was not a position they chose often, though, and Bane wanted to be sure he was loose and slick. His brother, though large in spirit, was slight in body and it was no easy thing for him to straddle Bane’s hips.

Privately, he was also more than delighted with the broken groans, the hitching of Barsad’s breath whenever he was sure to graze his fingers against his prostate, rub against the little bundle of nerves and watch as his lamb jerked at the sensation.

He could tell he had teased enough when Barsad’s throaty groan twisted into a snarl. “I will slaughter you. Your blood will run from my fingers and I will defile your corpse.”

He laughed deeply and relented, pulled his fingers from him and lay back when Barsad pushed impatiently at his shoulders. A slick hand wrapped around him tightly, just tight enough for him to know it was done vindictively, and Barsad stroked slick onto him, watched his cock as he pulled on it lightly, teased at his foreskin until Bane groaned for him and pushed into his hand. It was met with the barest scrape of nail along the length of him, enough to make his blood ignite and pleasure course through him.

“Perhaps I should tease you as you teased me,” he suggested. “Simply stroke you until you go mad from it.”

“I think you would find yourself bent over this cot very quickly,” he returned, and Barsad shuddered, clearly considering the option before he dipped down to messily kiss against his cockhead, wet and slurping before he sat up, licked over his lips, shining with precome and spit.

“I will have you like this. I cannot let you forget who this cock belongs to.” He lowered his lashes near coquettishly, as though daring Bane to tell him differently.

Bane ran his hand down Barsad’s back, gripping his ass tightly. “If it is yours, then I suggest you use it rather than simply talk about it.”

Barsad was more than happy to follow the suggestion. He hitched his leg over him and Bane held him open so Barsad could take hold of his cock, guide it against his slick opening and slide down onto him. His eyes lidded as he sank down. His thighs trembled under the slow strain of it until he was seated and full, so perfectly snug around him.

“Ah-ah—” It was a soft cry that made him want to take hold of his mate’s slender hips and force him to ride him at a ruthless pace.

He realized there was no reason to resist such a thing at all. Barsad’s fingernails scrabbled down his chest and he cried out hoarsely as he lifted him, yanked him down quickly. It strained even his arms, and Barsad could do little more than work to stay on top of him, whimper out when his cock dragged over his prostate.

“Is this how you own my cock, little lamb?” he teased, feeling his own body drawing close as Barsad’s mouth dropped open and he arched wantonly, throat exposed and finally giving up on holding Bane’s chest to grasp his wrists and move with him.

“Y-yes!” It was a wrecked sob that fell beautifully from Barsad’s lips, and Bane’s orgasm left him in a rush when he heard it. He snapped his hips up, pulling Barsad’s down and forcing him to grind down against him as he shuddered, swelling and loosing himself in his tight clutch. Barsad nearly collapsed against him then, gripping down on his knot eagerly, trying to rock so that it pressed and rubbed against his prostate.

“Touch yourself for me,” he ordered softly, running his hand up the sweat-slick skin of his back. “Let me see how good you feel when I am inside of you.”

Barsad’s eyes were unfocused and hazy, but his fingers were steady when they wrapped around his cock. He pumped at himself with little finesse, far beyond the point of being able to work himself gracefully other than a few flicks of his wrist. When Bane slipped his thumb between his lips it was sucked at, licked with a near mewl of contentment as Barsad came for him, streaks of warm come painting his stomach and chest.

He pulled him down, ignoring the mess until he could pull away, clean them up. Instead, he carded his fingers through Barsad’s hair and waited until he caught his breath.

“We will be making our trip to the stock exchange soon.”

Barsad opened his mouth to speak and he paused him with a hand to his shoulder. “You will be our eyes from above, not in the thick of it.”

He made a disgruntled noise. “I do not see why. I ride better than half of the men here.”

“And you shoot finer than all of them, so that is where you will be.”

“If you are doing this out of some misguided attempt to keep me safe—”

Bane chuckled and tugged at his hair. “I would never. You have my word. I enjoy putting you in danger, lamb, knowing you are clever enough to always get out of it.”

Barsad’s lips twitched into a tired smirk and he let the matter go. “Very well, I will watch from the sky. They are sure to train their own snipers on you. I will show them how it is done.”

“I would expect no less of you. You will take care of any interlopers and then join us at the estate of our benefactor.”

The idea was met with a near sour look. “I will be sure to wipe my feet before soiling their finery.”


	9. Chapter 9

He shifted his weight around a little from foot to foot as he cradled the phone’s receiver near his ear. It was no easy task finding an actual working phone booth in Gotham City, and this one was clearly on the fritz. It reeked of piss inside, hobos probably avoided sleeping in it. He considered himself pretty impervious to grime, but even he’d wiped down the receiver with his handkerchief as much as he could and made a mental note to trash the expensive cloth later even knowing the cost of it. There were some things that just couldn’t be saved.

He wasn’t sure anyone would actually pick up, he’d filched the number out of his mate’s contacts list, a seemingly never-ending scroll of every VIP in Gotham City whether they were actually someone Phillip associated with or not. He felt like a terrible person for doing it, but something big was going on.

It rang for a few moments before a smooth, cultured voice answered the phone. He was a little surprised. He didn’t think anyone had landlines anymore, but it sounded like he’d reached Mr. Wayne’s butler, Alfred, instead of a cell phone. He’d seen him once or twice when he’d been brought to attend events at the manor. He seemed like a kind enough man, understandably protective of Bruce Wayne.

“Hello? I need to speak with Mr. Wayne”

“I am sorry. Mr. Wayne is currently not accepting and unsolicited calls at this time.”

He was expecting that. He worried his lip and shot out his hunch before he could stop himself. “And what if I had information regarding a certain night eight years ago, the night Harvey Dent died? Would it still be considered unsolicited?”

There was a long pause. He worried that he’d been politely hung up on because obviously he was a lunatic.  Then there was a tired sounding voice on the other end of the line.

“What can I do for you?”

Holy shit. He knew it. He fucking knew it. He didn’t really have time to be triumphant over it, though.

“Commissioner Gordon’s been shot. I don’t know what happened, but I found him. He was mumbling about an army hiding in the sewers, about a masked criminal named Bane.”

“I’m sure you had your statement taken by the police—”

“Yeah,” he cut him off impatiently. “They asked me if he saw any giant alligators down there, too. He needs you.” He swallowed a moment and glanced around even know he was alone in that filthy booth. “He needs the Batman.”

There was the almost barely audible sound of Mr. Wayne’s breathing changing. “If Commissioner Gordon thinks—“

“Oh, I don’t think he knows who you are, but I do. We met a long time ago. Back when I was just an angry kid.” He couldn’t tell him too much. He knew the Batman had some pretty damn pricy resources at his disposal, and this phone booth was going to be traced. There was no reason to give him too much information on his past. “I just, I could tell. I could see it. I don’t know why you did it, went into hiding, took the rap for Dent, but something is going on, and I’m still a believer in the Batman, even if you’re not.”

He hung up quickly, feeling a little jittery with exhilaration and nervousness. He hadn’t been sure he’d even get to talk to Bruce Wayne, but it had happened and he felt strangely good over it. Maybe it would do some good. There wasn’t a lot of hope in him, but maybe the Batman was something he could put a little of it into.

He walked out of the phone booth and ran right into Ted who was looking none too thrilled.

“Don’t think of giving me the slip like that again, John.” It was a stern tone, and John nodded a little at it, feeling a rush of anxiousness rise up to his throat. He didn’t think Ted had overheard anything, but he wasn’t sure an old booth like that was exactly soundproof.

“I don’t suppose we can forget that you saw that?” He tried for a light, humorous tone and winced when it came out too desperate.

Ted looked down at him and shook his head. “I’m not forgetting it, John. I’m just not saying anything to Mr. Stryver. I’m your bodyguard, not your babysitter.” He paused and John was surprised when he lit up a cigarette and looked at him thoughtfully. “But if I were you, I’d break up whatever little tryst you’ve got going on. It’s going to get you hurt.”

He sputtered at the very thought. “I am NOT—”

“Not your babysitter,” Ted cut him off with a wave of his hand as the lit cigarette dangled from it. “Not paid enough for it.”

John chuckled dryly at that. “Yeah, ok. Don’t suppose I can get one of those?”

Ted blew out a lungful of smoke thoughtfully. “Not a chance. I like my job. You’re less obnoxious than half of the little shits I’ve had to guard before.”

“Aw, thanks?”

“Not even kidding. Last omega I guarded spent half his time at the salon, the other half buying half of the mall every day. Made me carry the bags and wouldn’t stop talking about the stupidest shit.”

He tried to picture a big guy like Ted carrying around armfuls of bags of Chanel or Armani while following after an omega who was most likely dressed to the nines and chattering back to him, a cloud of expensive perfume and hair product wafting back to Ted.

He laughed. It was the first time he’d laughed so genuinely in a long time. Ted shot him an irritated look and flicked away the butt of his cigarette. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Nah. Let’s go home. Maybe I’ll make you try on shoes with me tomorrow.”

Ted considered him a moment. “Let’s not. I’d hate to lose my job after you suffered an unfortunate accident.”

John really wasn’t sure if he was a joking. He kinda liked that. It reminded him of a long time ago.

____________________

The low crackle of static in his ear was barely noticed as he focused his attention through his scope. They had easily tapped into the police scanners, and he was being fed small bits of updates as the officers scrambled to work out what was going on inside the trader’s building. He adjusted his sight according to each new piece of information. So far, there were only two snipers set up on the rooftops. Neither noticed him.

They were so focused on their own targets that they would be easily dispatched before they could even react to his presence. He also received information from his brothers on the inside. The connection was down for them. It would be time for their backup plan. The motorcycles that had been smuggled in through the underground parking garage were proving to be of use.

There was a countdown in his ear coupled with the police’s urging of their men to stay steady. The corner of his mouth ticked up into an amused smirk as he refocused on the sniper that was showing the itchiest trigger finger. He saw how his brow line was creased, how there was a bead of sweat running down his neck. He was too inexperienced. He would shoot without the order, it was written in every angle of his posturing on the roof top.

When the roar of the motorcycles rumbled and echoed through the streets to cover it, the man’s gloved finger twitched and ticked over the trigger.

Barsad sent a bullet through his skull.

He watched dispassionately through his scope as the blood fanned out onto the tar of the rooftop. There was too much commotion below. His body would not be noticed even by the other sniper until they had put plenty of distance between them. He hefted up his Barrett with a low grunt, cleared and stripped it swiftly before tucking it into the guitar case he had used for transport. There were enough musicians wandering the streets of Gotham that one more was not noticed.

He dropped down from the fire escape and blended into the crowd as they gaped and tried to crane their necks to see what had become of the escaped terrorists. He pretended to watch for a few moments as he listened to instructions through his earpiece. Then he walked down the sidewalk, unhurried.

There was a sudden burst of static in his ear and he stilled in surprised.

Mr. Wayne had suddenly decided to slink out of his murky self-pity. It was a surprise. He had never met the former brother himself, but all in the league quite obviously knew of him and his crimes against them. There had been no indication that he would come from his wallowing that evening.

It did not matter, though; the task had been accomplished, and Bane would be waiting for him at Daggett’s estate. They would discuss this unusual turn of events there.

____________________

John tried not to look upset that they were going to Daggett’s estate. There was no use in being pissy about it. He was Phillip’s boss, and if Phillip wanted him there with him, he would go and he would put on a smile and be charming. He knew Daggett liked looking at him, and he thought he was a sleaze ball, but he didn’t mind too much being eyed if it took focus off Philip. He knew he was CEO, but he secretly hoped that if he maybe talked to him a little he’d try getting a job at a different company, or at least a different branch. He never thought he’d see the day when he’d be ok with the idea of moving out of Gotham, but maybe it was time to let go and suggest it.

“Wear something nice,” Philip reminded him, and he nodded in agreement. He knew how important it was to maintain a good appearance. He could remember all of the work Philip had had to go through to instill SOME sort of fashion sense into him. He hadn’t exactly been used to expensive clothes or how to treat them well.

He could remember how upset Philip had been the first time he’d ruined a suit. He hadn’t been allowed to wear clothes in the house after that for a little while, just until he learned better, until he learned to better respect the things Philip gave.

He knotted his tie up wrong and had to unwork it and tie it again, make sure it was actually straight this time. Phillip cleared his throat behind him and he spun around and gave him an apologetic look before they left the house.

“I don’t need to remind you to be on your best behavior, John,” Philip said absently as he looked out the window. He wanted to ask what was wrong. He could see a faint bruise on his face still, where he’d held the icepack the night before. It didn’t look like Philip was in the mood to talk about it, though, and they were almost there, so he let his mind wander, thought about his earlier phone call and if it had done any good.

He had to hold back his excitement when he saw the batpod racing down the highway on Daggett’s television screen. Daggett and Phillip were off to the side discussing business in hushed tones, and he had been watching the robbery and hostage situation on the news with great interest. Fucking people these days. How the hell did they even get motorcycles into that building in the first place?


	10. Chapter 10

It was amazing how fast the news coverage switched gears the second the Batman showed up. It was as if they’d completely forgotten there was a hostage situation going on. Suddenly, the screen was being filled with information on the last sighting of the Batman, Harvey Dent, interviews were playing in the background about psychological profiling and what the event could possibly mean.

“What about the uh, I don’t know, armed robbers?” he muttered softly to himself. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d said they needed the Batman.

That seemed to draw Daggett’s attention to the screen. He looked uncomfortable, downright fucking constipated if John was going to pick a word, when he spread himself out to sit on the couch. He was glad he’d picked the chair. He couldn’t help but wonder why Daggett seemed so personally invested in this. There was a twitch to his hands that John had only observed when he was uncomfortable during a business situation.

“Eight years, and he has to pick tonight.”

John turned towards Daggett more, confused, and then Philip spoke up.

“He’s drawing the cops off of Bane.”

Bane. How did they know who Bane was? He looked towards Philip, but Philip wasn’t looking at him. A heavy weight settled in his stomach and he felt sick. What had Daggett dragged Philip into? They couldn’t possibly be working with the masked man that had shot Gordon. Philip was a good business man, cold, calculating, but not ruthless, not like this.

He stood up quickly, went to the bathroom to collect his thoughts. He cracked the window and sat at the edge of the tub to get some air. Maybe he was misunderstanding things. He was pretty stupid at times. He often didn’t understand the things Philip did until they were explained to him so that he could. Maybe he should just ask Philip before he went around making crazy accusations in his mind.

He stood and took a breath, resolving to do just that as soon as he had some privacy with his mate. He wouldn’t want him to think he was questioning him. He just wanted to be able to understand what was happening. His fingers touched the fancy brass door knob.

He ducked down instinctively when he heard the sound of gunshots rattling through the open bathroom window.

Philip. He grabbed the door knob again and tried to twist it open, pushed, only to have it slammed shut back in his face.

“Don’t even think about it, John,” a rough voice barked at him.

“Ted? What’s going on? Let me the hell out!”

“No idea, but you’re staying in there until I know it’s clear.”

“Help Philip!” He smacked his hand against the door in annoyance, hating how helpless he felt when he could hear shouting coming down from the rooftops.

“You’re my priority, John.” His voice was cold, and it was clear he wasn’t about to budge.

“I’m fine, please, just please, you have to help!”

Ted swore and opened the door, staring him down a moment then thrusting a gun into his hands. “Someone comes at you, use it, but don’t you dare leave this bathroom until one of us gets you.” He didn’t wait for a response and John fumbled with the gun, quickly making sure it was pointed away from himself. It wasn’t like he’d ever held one before, but point and shoot seemed doable.

He could hear shouting going on down the halls, people running, all heading towards the steps and to the rooftop. What was going on? He wasn’t scared for himself, but he was sure as hell worried about Philip.

He hadn’t exactly told Ted he wouldn’t move. That was at least what he told himself as he eased the door open and peered down the hall. His heart was pounding and his body felt tight with tension as he looked, but everything seemed, well, normal. It was well lit, lush and bright with Daggett’s decorations.

He raised the gun up and kinda just hoped he was holding it right as he crept down the hall and made his way to the stairwell, feeling the hair on the back of his neck tingle, the anxiety tensing his shoulders.

He watched as Daggett limped down the stairs, being helped by Philip. Philip looked ok, and he felt the tension leave his body for a moment.

It coursed right back through him when he saw Bane descending the staircase after them. It had to be him. Metal masked his face and the way he stood commanding and predatory as he walked, there left no doubt in John’s mind. He locked the gun onto him, ready to fire, even as his own breathing quickened uncertainly. Would he even hit him?

“John, put that down this instant!” Philip snapped at him. Philip almost never snapped, not in front of company.

Somehow, it was even scarier than Bane. He felt the anger under his skin and he fumbled, nearly dropped the weapon, quickly putting it onto a nearby table. Ted was beside him in an instant, and he wasn’t sure if the look he was giving him could actually kill him, but he felt like he should be reminding him that he was in fact not paid to kill him and that Bane was right fucking there next to his mate and he would love to know what was going on.

____________________

Barsad wondered at the commotion. His earpiece informed him that they had encountered an interesting run-in with the thief they had hired and their former brother. He was hardly needed for the little encounter, and so he went into Daggett’s estate, barely holding his contempt in check. He would be happy when this man’s decadence was brought to a swift end. He walked down the hall to meet his brother at the staircase as instructed.

There was a man standing at the end of the hall facing away from him, blocking the path to the stairwell where he could see his mate. When he saw him raising his gun towards Bane, he instinctively went for the one hidden beneath his coat, aiming and beginning to squeeze down on the trigger. It was fortunate for the man that Barsad was able to stop himself from sending him to an early grave when one of Daggett’s associates, Stryver, shouted at him.

They had of course been keeping tabs on everyone under Daggett’s employment, especially his CEO. The name he shouted was familiar, John, the man’s omega, if his memory didn’t fail him. He had not seen images of him, but the name had been jotted down in passing on the information they had on Stryver.

He watched as John was grabbed up and dragged off by another man and Stryver followed them. He walked out into the hall and looked to Bane who had barely paid attention to the proceedings. It was clear he was absorbed in thought over what had transpired on the rooftop.

He went to him and listened as Daggett hastily assured Bane that Stryver’s omega would be punished for pulling a weapon on him. Bane turned away from him in disinterest and looked to Barsad.

“Did you encounter any trouble?”

“I did not, brother.”

He received a nod and went with Daggett to discuss the next stage of the man’s plans. The man’s CEO joined them not long into the planning and they pretended to agree. They would not have to pretend to care about what this man said for much longer.

Still, just hearing him speak was beginning to grate on his nerves and give him a headache that rivaled any he received from hours watching from the rooftops. He felt strange, agitated. Something was not sitting well with him, but he could not place his finger on the cause which did nothing to ease the disquiet in him. He glanced at the clock discretely.

Surely it had been longer than five minutes since the last time he had looked. They had been here for hours and yet Daggett seemed to show no signs of winding down.

His shoulders dropped slightly in resignation, then he felt a light touch to his knee. It was clearly from Bane, a signal that he didn’t expect him to put up with listening to the drivel pouring from these men’s mouths. He did not wish to resign him to such a fate alone, though. He had been wanted to keep an eye on things.

Still… He had not been able to clean his rifle…

He waited a few more moments before he allowed himself to accept that he was not needed. He could feel Bane’s slight amusement through their bond as he left the room, taking his rifle case with him.

It was with a small measure of satisfaction that he settled down onto Daggett’s clean white sofa and began to clean the fouling from the bore of his rifle, not caring much where any debris and dirt from the rooftops smeared. Someone entered the room and he flicked his gaze towards him. A large man, well-muscled, most likely someone on Daggett’s payroll, though he held himself better than most of them.

There was clearly something that made him uneasy, but that was to be expected after an attack on the man he collected his checks from. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket and thick fingers plucked out a cigarette. He lit it and smoked, something he highly doubted was considered acceptable behavior in Daggett’s estate.

“I saw you in the hall,” he remarked, watching him as cleaned. “You almost blew the brains out of my client.”

“Ah. Perhaps your client should not have been so foolish as to pull a gun on my leader.” A bodyguard, then. They were becoming a trend among the rich. Fragile omegas too weak to care for themselves and not trusted alone were given them for protection. It was just another annoyance, another thing that grated upon him about this city.

No country was perfect for an omega. He remembered well the pleasing day when he had gone with the league to raze the trading center he had been sold at to the ground. This country, though, Gotham as its pinnacle, was a show of pure hypocrisy. It spoke of freedom for all, yet kept omegas as second-class citizens, and every day longer he spent here was a cold reminder of it.

“Yeah, well, he’s a ballsy little shit, and probably smarter than anyone else with the company Stryver keeps.” It was said offhandedly, but it smacked of a cold seriousness. Perhaps he was smarter than he seemed. They would need to keep a closer eye on him if he was a regular at the household.

They did not speak as he finished his cleaning, but he observed the man, how he did not seem at ease, and he doubted it was due to his presence in the room, not with how the man would occasionally look down the hall, the muscle in his jaw tightening.

“You seem troubled, friend.” Fact gathering could only help at this point, and he had carefully put away his rifle.

“Not for nothing,” was the only response.

There was a subdued whimper, barely heard save for the way it echoed down the hall towards them. He stood, suspicious.

“And where is your charge now?”

The man shifted, agitated, and glanced down the hall again.

“Being punished.”

He seethed, sudden anger flashing through him at the thought. It was an unspoken thing that misbehaved omegas were punished. It was certainly not legal, but police did not get involved in what they considered “domestic disputes,” and there was still the idea that an alpha had every right to do to their omega as they pleased.

It surprised the man when he pushed past him and stalked down the hall. It surprised himself, as well. Gotham was affecting him more than he liked to admit. Too many memories.

“You shouldn’t,” the man called after him. His voice was flat, clearly he did not truly care that Barsad was to interrupt whatever punishment was taking place.

There was mostly silence in the hall, his footsteps quiet on the clean marble. He expected to hear the sounds of perhaps a whipping, slaps being delivered, but there was nothing, save for when he passed a bathroom door and heard the sounds of strained breathing.

Opening the door created a collision of two separate worlds. A rush of memories flooded through him, things he had long since tucked away as lost forever to him. It took only moments to recognize him now that he could see him from the front, changed as he was.

Robin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI: No update tomorrow guys, sorry! I'll be at a horror movie convention. (I get to meet Josh Stewart, yay!)


	11. Chapter 11

How could this be his little bird, though?

His body was contorted painfully, a stress position, a form of torture if he had ever seen one.

His Robin had been stripped down to his underwear, and his eyes were covered as he crouched precariously on the ridge of the tub, his ankles raised up and his knees jutting out painfully as his back bowed forward. His wrists were secured behind his back with a zip tie.

In the league, they had trained them to learn of what they might be forced to endure should they be captured. Many armies liked to leave no marks, to say they had been unharmed. It was excruciating, both the pain of breathing and the unnatural stretch of muscle that burned and ripped from prolonged pulling. Delirium and tremors had set in quickly for him from the quick rush of blood to his head. It was a punishment he wished on few.

How long had his Robin been like this? He could see the painful hisses of breath he sucked in, the spasms and cramping in his muscles. His skin was slick with sweat from the exertion. Each moment was agony for him.

Robin’s head jerked up a little before he lowered it again, and it made Barsad realize he had gasped, had nearly sobbed at seeming him. He had longed to see him just once more for so long, but never at this price.

“P-Philip? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Robin sounded choked, each word costing him precious air in his compressed lungs. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what was happening.”

He snatched him up from the edge of the tub, crushing him into his arms. He heard the pained yelp, the sudden tension gone from limbs causing its own kind of hurt.

His fingers had not trembled in nearly eight years, and now his hands could nearly not stop shaking enough to break the tie on Robin’s wrists, to gather him into his arms, sit in the corner of the bathroom and cradle him to his chest.

“Robin… Oh, Robin,” he said sorrowfully. He was not supposed to be here. He was never supposed to be in Gotham. He would have come back for him. He would never have let him live in this rotted city.

At hearing him, Robin jerked and twisted in his arms. “What are you—”

“Shh.” He worked the blindfold from around Robin’s head. Pained, dazed eyes blinked at him, unfocused at first. “My little bird.” He nearly choked on the words. “What are you doing here?”

Recognition, a sudden spark in Robin’s eyes, gave him clarity.

“B-Barsad, you can’t—” Robin shook his head, disbelieving. Barsad gathered him up tighter, never wanted to let go.

“It is me, Robin.” He cupped his cheek and leaned forward to brush their lips together.

Robin shoved at him violently. “Don’t! You can’t, you can’t do that.” It came out as a choked whisper, and Barsad knew that he was right. He could see the scarring of the bonding bite on Robins neck. He was his no longer, and he had never imagined the visible proof of that could cause such an ache in his heart. They both had another, now, and he was risking their mission, lying here on the floor cradling Robin to him.

He did not try to kiss him again, but he could not let go. He ran his fingers through his neatly cropped hair. When he had last seen it, it had fallen close to his ears in dark little waves. He looked young still, so young, but he could see the worn lines around his face that spoke of lack of sleep, of melancholy.

It was a sense of sick shock when he realized how close he had come to shooting Robin earlier. He was not supposed to be in Gotham. He could not be in Gotham when it was to be burnt to cinders.

“What are you doing here, Robin?”

“Me?” His fingers dug into his jacket a bit, and Barsad realized how cold he had to be. He slipped it off, wrapping it over his shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing here, Barsad? How are you here? I didn’t know—I never thought I’d fucking see you again.”

“I am here because this is where I am needed.”

“That doesn’t even fucking mean anything. What the fuck are you doing here, in Daggett’s house?”

Barsad nearly smiled. It had been so long since he’d heard that sharp tongue. “I am not trying to avoid your questioning. I simply cannot tell you much. I am sworn to secrecy.”

____________________

John kept trying to stamp down the waves of emotions that were bubbling up in him. Barsad was here. He was here, and he was touching him, and he wanted to wrap up in him, breathe in every bit of him and never let go. He’d thought about it so often, and now that he had it in front of him, it was like a stab to the gut to realize it didn’t even matter at all, and he couldn’t actually have it.

When he shivered, Barsad took the scarf from around his neck, wound it around him. They couldn’t stay like this. He could see the mark on Barsad’s neck, of course there was, Barsad had probably been made to bond a long time ago. They were both going to get into huge trouble with their alphas. John already WAS in huge trouble with his alpha.

He had only been trying to help. He was only trying to protect Philip. It hadn’t been his place to do it, though. Philip had been more angry than he’d ever seen him. He’d never actually corrected him outside of the privacy of his home. It was humiliating for Barsad to see him like this, and his muscles were throbbing in agony, but curling up tight in Barsad’s lap was making it seem like only a distant ache.

“Warm enough?”

He nodded. He didn’t want to get up. He was so tired, and though he knew it wasn’t true, he couldn’t think of a single punishment Philip could give him that wouldn’t be worth just a few more seconds of being held by Barsad just like they used to. He let himself have it, closed his eyes a little as Barsad’s hands rubbed at his arms.

“How are you here? You weren’t supposed to be allowed to stay in Gotham.”

He shrugged. “Philip wanted me. He’s got connections.” Barsad’s fingers tightened around his arms a little.

“He’s not, I mean—this looks bad, but I did something really terrible.” He sat up a little and saw how closed off Barsad’s face looked. His face looked so different. His beard was longer, not just some scruff anymore, and his face looked more reserved than before. “I mean. I didn’t mean to…”

He bit at his lip, hating all of the panic and anxiety welling up in him still. He didn’t want Barsad to think he’d been being a fuck-up, but he didn’t want him to think Philip was a bad alpha, either. “It just happened. I tried to attack someone, some fucking mammoth, and I didn’t know Philip was working with that monster.”

Barsad went stiff under him and released his hold on his arms. His voice was agitated. “That ‘monster’ is my mate.”

Suddenly all of his petty fucking problems didn’t seem like shit.

“Oh, Christ, I’m sorry.”

He looked almost puzzled. “Why are you apologizing? I chose him.”

He scrambled off of him. “Are you out of your mind?” Barsad wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t just bond with someone like Bane. Bane was a killer, he’d almost killed Gordon, and he was in charge of something big and evil, he knew it.

“You don’t understand, Robin—”

“I understand just fine,” he snapped and pulled the jacket off of his shoulders, the scarf, set them in Barsad’s lap. “You need to get out of here.”

He couldn’t have chosen to bond with Bane, and if he had, then he wasn’t the Barsad he knew anymore. The thought left him feeling hollow. Maybe he’d been pining for something for a decade that didn’t even exist anymore.

Barsad wrapped his scarf back around his neck. Of course Bane would make him hide his mark, like he was ashamed of having Barsad as a mate, the asshole. His face was passive when he spoke, slipping on his jacket. “You should not be here. Your mate is an abusive bastard who will meet his end by playing in a game he does not understand.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Get the fuck out of here.” How dare he talk about Philip like that? He grabbed onto his arms to shove him. Somehow they ended up in a tangle of arms, instead, frantically clinging tightly to one another.

It was devastating. This was still Barsad. He smelled almost the same. He felt almost the same when he hugged him close, just stronger, like he’d been forced to harden up because of Bane. He hated Bane. Hated that he’d taken what was his and warped it into something else.

“You stupid fucking shit,” he whispered. Barsad was practically crushing him and he didn’t care.

“You need to get out of the city, Robin. I can tell you nothing beyond that, but you need to be out of here quickly.” There was the barest press of lips to his cheek, and Barsad nearly ripped himself out of his grasp, as though it were the only way he could disconnect from him.

He dropped down to sit on the edge of the tub after Barsad left the bathroom. The world was crushing in around him, and there wasn’t enough fucking air in the tiny bathroom. He felt like some dumb kid all over again, like the last ten years of his life had been a strange blur and his past was right there in the front of his brain repeating again and again.

Barsad was in trouble. He’d been brainwashed. It was as simple as that. What wasn’t so simple, though, was that he was bonded now, and how the hell was he supposed to help him then? Breaking a bond was risky, it could fuck either person up. People didn’t tend to leave a bond unless one of them was dead. Even then, it wasn’t really broken, not unless the person took another mate.

There was a sharp rap on the door. “Come on, John, time’s up. Stryver wants you out there.”

It was Ted. Not coming inside, not checking to see if he was still in position like John was sure he was supposed to. He took a couple of deep breaths to try to get himself under control. He hadn’t let his emotions get the better of him like this for a long time, but his past hadn’t exactly come back to haunt him before.

He found his clothes under the sink cabinet and dressed carefully, fixed his hair. It helped to put himself back into place for Philip. He understood why Philip had punished him for being so out of line, even if he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t just go pulling a gun on business partners or shooting them.

Philip just couldn’t possibly understand how dangerous this guy was. He didn’t know what Gordon had told him, that he’d almost killed the man. He probably had gotten dragged into some shady dealing with Daggett and had been convinced to go along with it. John had no idea what had happened at the stock market today, but he would ask when they were alone.

He walked out of the bathroom composed, though his legs were still shaking a bit from how long he’d been holding his punishment pose. He didn’t know how to explain how his arms weren’t tied anymore, but Ted didn’t ask. He hadn’t seen him go into position, though, so maybe he just hadn’t known.

“I’m ready.” He kept his voice steady. Punishment was over, and Philip never held a grudge. He just did what had to be done and moved on. John accepted it the same way. He wouldn’t let what had happened in the bathroom shake him up, either. He’d talk to Philip, warn him if he had to, somehow. Barsad had been giving him a warning, he was sure of it.

Ted walked behind him stiffly, and he thought they’d be going to the car to meet Philip. He didn’t expect to be led to Bane.


	12. Chapter 12

He also didn’t expect to be pushed down into his knees by Daggett. Pain flared up in them as he smacked down onto the marble. Daggett usually ignored him or ogled him, he’d never touched him and he’d sure as hell never reprimanded him, but then John had been careful never to give him reason to.

“Apologize.”

He swallowed hard and glanced up at Bane. He felt old rage bubbling up in him, something he’d stamped out a long time ago. Something he thought was only ashes, but had turned out to be embers.

It was probably good Bane wasn’t looking at him to see it. “I did not come to see an omega be subjugated before me.” He sounded almost bored with his personal humiliation.

John grit his teeth.  “That’s good. Because I’m not fucking sorry.”

Shit.

He didn’t know what had come over him. He really didn’t. He wanted to take it back before it even finished rushing out of his mouth.

Suddenly Bane didn’t seem so bored anymore, and he felt very, very small.

He laughed, and that hollow echo was scarier than any angry noise he could have heard. He was against the wall in an instant, and he knew no one was going to help him. Philip hadn’t been in there when he came in. Philip probably knew John was going to fuck this up like usual and knew he couldn’t protect him. His head slammed back against the wall and it took him a moment to realize he’d even been grabbed and hauled off his feet. He could feel the wall nearly indent behind him, plaster and paint chipping off into his hair.

He blinked dizzily and stared up into Bane’s strange eyes and pale lashes. He should be looking down, averting his gaze, but he’d never been a good omega. He was struck suddenly by how closely he was being watched, how it felt like Bane was stripping him down to his bones and exposing every raw bit of his soul. He kept staring because it felt like this was important, like if he looked away it was going to be the last thing he ever did.

It was weird, because Bane didn’t look angry. He thought he’d be enraged, some insolent omega fucking with his alpha status. He looked calm, passive. The hand that had shoved him left his shirt and he slid down to slump on the floor. “This one is ornery, with a sharp tongue.”

Daggett sounded angry, yelling at him. He didn’t seem scared of Bane, which just cemented to him that Daggett was every bit the idiot that he’d always painted him as. He thought money bought him Bane. John had just met the man, and he could tell nothing bought Bane. Bane held up his hand, clearly disinterested in wasting time hearing Daggett yelling.

He didn’t have time to brace himself for the viciously swift kick to his guts. It doubled him, made something crack in him and he tasted blood. He gagged and curled into a heap on the floor, trying to protect himself from the additional blows that were sure to come.

“I was not interested in your apology, before. I will take it now.”

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed out. It hurt more than the sharp pain in his chest. This could have been easy on him, and he’d chosen to fucking make it hard. He braced himself for more brutality.

Bane left the hall without another word. John panted sharply, each hitch in his breath hurt. Ted helped carefully lift him up, braced his arm over his shoulder and helped him limp out to the car. Philip was waiting there. He didn’t ask what happened to him. It was a pretty obvious thing.

“Did you apologize?”

He nodded numbly, and whimpered a little when Philip put his hand on his stomach. He didn’t push. He just rested it there possessively, and after all of the fucked up events of the night, it was what he needed. He almost wished for more, a gentle rub to ease away the soreness and deep bruising he was sure to have, but Philip had never been the affectionate sort like that. He couldn’t blame him. It just wasn’t who he was.

“Bane—”

“I don’t want to talk about, Bane, John.” Philip sounded irritated. It was a bad sign, but things were happening too fast to put this off. He tried to think, to figure out how he could do this in a way that would keep them out of harm’s way.

He took a shuddery breath, let one of the small whimpers that kept trying to escape him come out. “Philip… I’m scared of him,” he whispered. He hated it. Hated admitting he was scared as much as he hated playing up his omega side, trying to draw out Philip’s alpha side more, the need to protect what was his.

Philip was looking at him now at least. The fingers on his stomach twitched slightly, gripped. It was enough to make him want to hiss out in pain, but he kept himself still. “Philip, you know Daggett is playing with fire here, don’t you?” He had to. His mate was smarter than that asshole any day of the week.

He wasn’t one for selling someone down the river, but when that person had fucking dug and irrigated the river themselves he was more than willing to make exceptions. “Please… Don’t just trust Daggett in this. He’s going to use Daggett for what he wants then he’s going to toss him out, probably with a bullet through his skull and into a dumpster.”

Philip’s eyes flashed, anger, and a reluctant acceptance that John was right. He let go of him and sat back more in his seat. “And since you’re suddenly so clever, what should I do about it? Run? Do you really think there’s somewhere to run from a man like Bane, John?”

He shook his head, wincing. No, he really didn’t. “Make a deal with him, then. Make it behind Daggett’s back.” It was sneaky and underhanded and he hated it, but he couldn’t let something happen to Philip. Daggett had dug his own grave, already. “Offer whatever he wants, offer your allegiance to him, I don’t know, something, but if you don’t convince him that you’re better off alive, I think you’re going to wind up dead, too, Philip.”

His voice shook a little at the last part and he bit roughly into his lip to focus and steady it. He didn’t do alone well. Philip had taught him that. It was one of the first punishments he’d earned when he was still young and didn’t know how to even begin to try and be a good omega. He hated being alone and he hated dark and he hated closets. There was nothing worse than being cold and alone and ignored.

Philip watched him for a moment then John was relieved to see him nod. “I will. Thank you, John.”

He took a careful breath, relieved.

____________________

“Why did you take so long coming back to me? My muscles will not be ripped to shreds on their own, you realize? Only your hands are equipped to take me apart.” Barsad sucked in a rough breath and lowered his head, moaning slightly when Bane dug into his muscles more.

It was not nearly as bad as before, but it had become a ritual for him to work loose any of the tension that his mate gained by spending long hours training his sights on a target, unwavering. He knew Barsad enjoyed the attention, even though his sharp tongue tried to lash him to pieces over it each time. Once, after a particularly grueling night, he had thought to spare him the pain until morning. He had received double the lashing and the sudden weight of Barsad dropping into his lap, demanding to be touched and rubbed.

He made sure never to slight him in such a way again.

“The omega earlier, he had to be reprimanded,” he explained. “I would not dream of keeping you waiting on my own.”

He tilted his head curiously when Barsad’s muscles twitched and re-tensed suddenly under his palms. Unusual. “What is troubling you?”

“Reprimanded, for daring to stand up to an alpha?” There was bitterness on his lamb’s tongue, and it did not sit well with him. He paused his work on his shoulders and tipped his head back instead, bared his throat and gazed down into his troubled eyes.

“You know, and have known for many years that that is not how the league functions, Barsad.” He traced his thumb across his cheekbone. “We cannot allow such things to be known, though, can we? Until such a time as our plan reaches fruition, we must pretend to play by this society’s rules. It is why you must cover your mark, because you would be treated as inferior when we all know that you are among the brightest of flames,” he finished affectionately, wrapping an arm around Barsad’s chest and pulling him close to feel his skin against him.

It drew the fight out of his mate, and he laid his head back on his shoulder. “You punished him to keep up appearances.”

“Does this displease you?”

“Very much.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, resting his hand on Barsad’s chest, feeling his slow breaths. “That is understandable,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, it was still necessary.”

“What did you do to him?” Barsad’s voice was tight. Dynamics were always a tense subject for him. Bane had marveled on more than one occasion that he had ever agreed to mate with him, knowing the sour taste he had rightfully developed for omega treatment. It made his bond something even more cherished, and he answered with the honesty that Barsad expected and deserved.

“I pushed him into the wall with sufficient force to disorient him but not enough to block out the pain. When he dropped, I kicked him hard enough to crack his lowest right rib.”

He could feel Barsad’s heart pounding beneath his hand. It was strange. They had done many things together that were displeasing but necessary, and yet this idea of cruelty to another omega seemed to stick with him, rankle him.

“This distresses you greatly. Have you grown soft on me, Barsad? I have seen you put enough bullets through enough omegas to know that you have no qualms with killing them.”

Barsad stilled suddenly and shook his head. “I am being a fool. It is nothing.”

“It is something, if it bothers you so.”

“Then perhaps you should make it up to me.”

Something troubled his mate still, but if he was not ready to share, then Bane would not push him, not yet, anyway. Barsad tended to come forth and speak to him on his own when he was given time and gentle prodding as needed.

“Perhaps I should,” he agreed, “after I finish rubbing you loose.”

Barsad glowered at him and spun around, sitting again. “Do your worst,” he challenged.

____________________

It left a bitter flavor on his tongue to find out that he could lie to his mate, after all. His deception settled into the pit of his stomach like a toxic lump. What could he do, though? When he had been indoctrinated into the league, he had made a vow to leave his old life behind. When he had taken Bane as his mate, he had sworn that he was his, always his.

He wanted desperately to be honest with him. Perhaps if he explained, Bane would show his Robin mercy, help Barsad get him out of the city, but Bane could not be expected to risk years of planning for the sake of one omega. This was his burden, and his alone to bear. Once Blake was safe, he would confess his sins to Bane, his weakness and disloyalty to him, and take on gladly whatever punishment was deemed fair for his actions.

For now, he worried. He had not truly been worried in many years. Bane had always guided him, helped him make the right choices. It left a numbness in him to feel alone for the first time in many years even as he laid out and pressed himself tight to his mate’s skin.


	13. Chapter 13

John’s rib was cracked. It hurt like hell, but it would heal. Stryver had sent him to their private doctor that morning to look at it, and he’d been told to take some pain killers and relax. The ugly purpling on his chest wasn’t questioned.  It wasn’t what was on his mind, though. It was what he’d seen on the TV screen at the office as he was leaving from his appointment.

Really? A major attack on the stock market and Bruce Wayne is suddenly broke? How very interesting. He had known that Daggett had had it out for Bruce Wayne for a long time. He wanted to be head of Wayne Enterprises, it was common knowledge. Who would have thought the man would go so far, though? To be stupid enough to bring down forces on Gotham that he couldn’t possibly hope to control.

He found himself ordering the driver to go the Wayne Enterprises building. It was probably stupid, but there was a board meeting there, and he was sort of hoping he’d be able to get into the building, slip around under the guise of going to see his mate, and find out what he could.

He hadn’t expected the huge throng of reporters and the like outside.

He certainly hadn’t expected to see Bruce Wayne.

“Looks like you need a ride, huh?” He said it loudly enough to be heard over the crowd. Wayne turned to look at him, his eyes lowering slightly in confusion before he seemed to recognize his voice.

“That’d be good.”

They got in the car, and he put up the privacy window, all the while sort of hoping his driver wasn’t going to mention this to anyone. He kinda doubted it, though. He could say he was trying to help, to do one of Daggett’s business associates a favor.

“You’re an omega.” Wayne sounded surprised, and well, that didn’t seem like a good start.

“Yeah.”

“I just didn’t expect that.”

“With all due respect, fuck you.”

Wayne blinked in surprise, and then seemed amused. It was clear he didn’t know what to make of John, and John should have learned to keep his mouth shut after last night, but he was pretty sure the Batman wasn’t going to sucker punch him or something for mouthing off.

Pretty sure, anyway.

Turned out no, but John didn’t like talking to him much. He asked him some questions about what he did, why he wore the mask. A symbol, Batman could be anyone.

It was a nice sentiment, coming from a rich guy who could afford to pour millions of dollars into high-tech toys, who didn’t have to worry about a day job, who had clearly been training for years.

Batman could be anyone his ass. Didn’t Batman used to TIE UP the people he found dressing like him? He was pretty sure he’d seen that in the news.

He didn’t share the thought. Honestly, it had been good to see him back, even if he was sensing a bit of hypocrisy in him. It felt like maybe something could actually be done about Bane. They talked about Bane, the sewer systems.

“So you know them?”

“It’s been a while, but yeah, I know them.”

Bruce didn’t ask about it and he was glad. “So do you think you could work something up? A way to search through them easily?”

“Probably… It’d be a shot in the dark, though, still. You’d need more men.” He wasn’t exactly going to tell Bruce he’d seen Bane, that he’d broken his rib last night. Just because he knew where he was last night didn’t mean he had a fucking clue where he was today, and there was no way he was going to get anything out of Philip about it.

“You know what? Drop me in Old Town.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, but he switched directions with the driver. Bruce had given him an idea, though. He’d been working on a makeshift grid, nothing elaborate but maybe it would help the police if he dropped it off anonymously. He’d do just that.

____________________

He was not surprised to receive a call from John’s alpha. Stryver. The man was smarter, shrewder than his boss. It had meant Barsad kept a closer eye on him out of principle. Talia had already contacted them detailing that their plan was proceeding as expected. He looked forward to seeing her soon even if it would be under strange circumstances. Daggett was sure to be furious that his own plan had failed.

Daggett had just outworn his usefulness.

“I need to speak with Bane. It’s urgent.” His tone was professional, cold.

“He will deliver himself to Mr. Daggett soon enough.” He nearly hung up the phone when Stryver went on.

“I said that I need to speak with Bane. Not Daggett.”

He stopped. He would not have cared before, but now he could not help but wonder, be suspicious of what this man wanted from Bane.

“You will speak to me.”

“I’m not wasting my time on you. Put me on with Bane.”

He nearly crushed the phone in his hand in quiet anger. This could be important, though. Bane would wish to know about it. Perhaps the man was a rat jumping ship. Perhaps he wanted to bargain to take John and leave the city. It was for those reasons only that he took the phone to Bane and stood close to listen.

____________________

“I want to make a deal with you.”

Bane listened impatiently. It was of no consequence to him if Daggett’s second wished to barter for his life. The man had no appeal to him, and would fall with his leader. His disloyalty only further repelled him. Still, Barsad would not have given the phone over to him if he did not feel it would be of benefit.

“And what sort of deal does a man make without his leader’s knowledge? What secret bribe are you going to offer me?”

“John’s heat starts soon. I thought you might enjoy him.”

He paused, not having expected such an offer. He knew that omega heat was used as a bartering tool in the more barbaric of societies. Perhaps it should not have surprised him that it was done in Gotham, as well, where the upper crust were truly the most uncivilized of men behind closed doors. It was nearly clever. If Bane was the monster that Stryver assumed he was, if he was an unbonded alpha on top of that, it would make sense for him to take John's heat and breed him ruthlessly though it for his own pleasure.

“Why are you offering your omega's heat?”

Barsad drew in a sharp breath beside him. Of course his mate would rile at such an offer, to barter an omega like a whore.

“Because I don't want to be a loose end.”

“Your omega did not leave a good impression on me, last I saw him.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll enjoy reminding him of his place.”

He clearly had no reason to take in this man’s omega, but his backstabbing did place him in a slight predicament. If he said no outright, then Stryver would become desperate, might warn someone, Daggett, or perhaps he would even be foolish enough to go to the police.

However, if he let himself believe that Bane had been bought…

He pretended to consider the offer. Barsad stared at him. He placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him, but could feel the tension even through his jacket when he spoke.

“Very well.”

“I’ll bring him to the house. You can have him after you’re through with Daggett, until his heat starts and ends.” It was said clipped, all business, as though he had not just sold out his boss and mate to keep his own skin.

“What are you thinking?” Barsad hissed, nearly wild with anger when he hung up the phone. It was endearing.

“As much as your ire charms me, it was not meant as a slight to you.” He slipped on his coat, handing Barsad his own, smiling under his mask at the way Barsad managed to glare at him yet still quickly dressed. “It was a necessary agreement to keep up appearances for now, to pacify Mr. Stryver until his end.”

“I did not take it as a slight. I merely wonder what you will be doing with a heated omega while he is in your custody,” Barsad snapped, his body rigid still.

“It seems I can do nothing to please you as of late, lamb.” Daggett’s end would wait. He pulled Barsad over and pressed his mask to the back of his neck, nuzzling slightly.

“It is not you, Bane. It is this city.” His voice sounded troubled. Far more than it had in many years. It made him think of their earlier conflicts of morality.

“And it will end soon,” he guaranteed. “Be strong, for yourself and for me.”

That earned him a shove, a baleful look. “I am always strong.”

“Good. Shall we go end Mr. Daggett’s impotent reign now?”

____________________

Stryver had bought himself and John some time, but it was not enough. It was not them leaving Gotham City, and the time came at what cost? He knew Bane would not take John during his heat, but it had shown Barsad, and would show John, just how little his alpha truly cared about him, willing to cast him off to a supposed monster to save his own skin.

He wanted the man dead, perhaps more than he had ever wanted another dead.

There was too much uncertainty in the air now, though. Their plans were reaching the point of culmination. He could not jeopardize them. He could not betray them even for Robin, though he would do anything to spare him. Still, he hated the idea of sitting idle until opportunity presented itself.

But then, there was opportunity presenting itself.

He had not expected Stryver to order John to the estate. It should not have surprised him, that he would be so punctual about going through with his bargain. He stood by Bane’s side, watched as John walked past him, not meeting his eyes, not meeting anyone’s eyes as he went to stand by his alpha. Barsad could see the pain in his steps as he moved and how he stood as close to Stryver as he could without touching him when Bane entered the room.

“He will be here any moment now. I’ll lead him in here.”

Bane merely nodded, his fingers hooked into the collar of his jacket. Barsad dared to steal a glance at Robin, and they caught each other’s eyes, quickly looked away. Barsad was doing it to protect John, he wondered if John was doing it to try and do the same. John didn’t understand, though. He thought Bane was a monster, when he was a liberator.

Stryver left the room with John seeming uncertain about what was going on, but following.

Barsad glanced at Bane. “I will make certain he does not try to warn him.” He received a slight nod and Bane stood patiently in silence. He held back a smile despite the situation; his brother did at times enjoy the theatricality the league had taught him.

Robin shifted from foot to foot as they stood in the hall. A swift look from Stryver made him still instantly and Barsad’s fingers itched for his gun.

“Will he not suspect something is off if your omega is here?”

Stryver considered that a moment and nodded. “Find something to do, John. Stay close, though.”

“I don’t unders—”

“Just go find something to do.” It was said dismissively, as though John was a pet to come and go at his master’s orders. When John left down the hall, Barsad grit his teeth, mapped out each weak spot in Stryver’s form and just how much pressure it would take applied to each point to make him scream, to make bones snap and muscles tear.

“Does he know you are selling him?” He barely managed to keep the contempt from his tone, forcing it to be neutral, just a follower gathering information for his leader.

“Lending. He will soon enough.”

“And he will be willing?”

“They’re all willing enough when they’re in heat. He won’t embarrass me again.”

It was for the best Daggett came storming in. Barsad considered himself a man of infinite patience, it had been a hard-learned skill to be able to wait, be steady until it was time to take the shot, and yet in that moment his hand had flown to his gun, ready to put a bullet through Stryver’s temple.

Stryver had not seen, did not know that the man he was helping condemn to death had just saved his own life. They rushed past him in a flurry of anger and excited movements.

It took him only a moment to pursue Robin.

He only had to round the hall. He was right in front of him, leaning against the wall, brow furrowed as he studied his phone, clearly truly only fiddling with it to waste time. When Barsad cleared his throat, he looked up, startled, and then looked torn. Barsad wanted to gather him up again, comfort him. As it was, though, he did not know if it would be welcome, or if it would be a lie.

“Robin…”

“We shouldn’t talk.”

“We must. I need to warn you—”

“Don’t bother. Do you think I don’t know what’s going on in there?” His eyes flicked down the hall. “Do you really think I don’t know Daggett isn’t coming out of there alive?”

He paused, surprised by that. He supposed Robin had been forced to change and adapt as he had, to accept necessary evils.

“Then you know?” How could be he so calm?

“I know this is goodbye. Stryver sold out Daggett so we could get out of the city.”

“Oh, Robin—”

“Don’t! Stop calling me that,” he interrupted coldly. “You don’t get to call me that. No one gets to call me that, anymore. You left. You fucking left.”

He could not stop himself from putting his hands to his cheeks, stroking the warm, smooth skin there. Robin stilled, closing his eyes tightly. One shuddery breath and his hands were suddenly latched onto his tightly.

“You know I never wanted to leave you. There was no part of my journey, no place I traveled that I did not keep you in my heart, little bird.”

A wounded sound ripped from Robin’s chest and he dove down, seeking his mouth. Barsad pulled him closer, unable to think of consequences when that which he had thought would be forever denied to him was his again for one small moment. They wrapped up in each other, grabbing hands and open mouths, hungry, yearning. Ten years poured out into the goodbye kiss neither had been able to give.


	14. Chapter 14

He dropped Daggett’s body down onto the floor. It was rare that he experienced actual satisfaction from killing, it was simply a needed act. Mr. Daggett, however, he could admit had been a pleasure to end. He was surprised Barsad had not come to witness it, knowing his distaste for the man, as well, but then he could remember a time when Barsad had trembled in his arms over ending a life, so perhaps even now he would not gain enjoyment from it.

Stryver had quickly left the room as ordered. He would live to see the next morning, though not many more after, he was certain. If he did not die before they took control of Gotham, then he would surely be ferreted out by the people for his lush lifestyle.

He left the body behind. There was little reason for him to move it. He strode from the room, not surprised to note that Stryver was no longer anywhere to be found. He had expected him to make himself scarce. He did wonder if he had left his mate somewhere around the premises with the idea that Bane would take him home, which was certainly not something he planned to do.

It was, however, certainly not what he was expecting to round the corner and see his mate wrapped up in Stryver’s omega, their tongues warring and desperate noises leaving both of them. It made him stop in his tracks, stare, a rare sense of jealousy, of anger, building up in his chest.

This was something he could not understand. Never before had he ever had reason to suspect his lamb would stray from him, not without reason or merit. They had discussed the case of an emergency with his heat, and Barsad had flippantly told him he would endure it alone or force Kojo to entertain him.

This was not heat, though. This hurt something in him.

He found himself backing away, turning the corner. The logic of putting an end to it, of ripping Barsad away from the other omega, even with the possessive anger he felt building in him, had made him feel uncomfortable, like he would have to acknowledge what had happened, then, confront it. He had never found himself wanting to confront something less. He knew there were things he could not offer Barsad, but Barsad had never indicated that he had felt in need of them, that he would seek a mouth elsewhere.

Now was a poor time to discover his mate’s apparent need to go to another for passion. He returned to Daggett’s body and considered turning it to pulp with his bare hands, feeling a restless frustration in him now, a type of bitterness that was new to him. He had accepted himself, his scars and defects, for many years now; he had never felt before like that had been something to keep what he wanted from him.

Barsad came to him, looking calm, eyes lidded and glazed with apathy as he glanced down at Daggett’s corpse. It was a near perfect visage, if he had not witnessed it himself he would not have noticed how Barsad’s lips were slightly swollen and red from kisses. He wondered if he had ever missed such a thing before.

“Shall I dispose of him?”

“It is not needed. Someone else will take care of it. Where is Stryver?”

“I did not see him leave. Why?”

“He owes me his omega, does he not?”

“He does.” Barsad looked uncertain suddenly. “But… what use do we have for him?”

“It would be rude not to accept,” he said simply. In truth, he was not sure what he would do with John, but he found himself resentful, and the tightening of Barsad’s stance gave an empty sort of satisfaction.

“What will you do when he goes into heat?”

“Are you worried that I will take him?” Vindictiveness was not a becoming trait, yet he found he did not care.

“No. Of course not, why would I be?” Barsad snapped. “I think he is in the hall.”

He nodded and walked past him, surprised when Stryver showed his face there with John. He supposed he felt safe enough, assuming that John was something Bane truly wanted. John looked uncomfortable, his shoulders were hitched and his head down lower. It jerked up quickly when Stryver spoke.

“Here he is. I’m sure you can have someone escort him back to me when his heat is over. It should start within the next few days. He’s always been bad at punctuality.”

“What are you—” John froze, the realization of the tradeoff clearly smacking him in the face now. “N-no! Phi—”

“Don’t be an embarrassment, John.”

John whipped around to face Philip, putting his hand on his arm. “You can’t, you _can’t_ —”

“John.” It was said with a dangerous edge to it, something that made John’s fingers snatch away from him and drop down. He might almost pity how betrayed the man looked if he had not felt something similar that John had been the cause of not moments ago. “You will return home, afterwards. You wanted me to do something. Be grateful that you can help and be good.”

John kept still, his fists clenched up so tightly that his knuckles were white.

He managed to keep still until Stryver was out of sight. Then he ran.

Barsad watched as footsteps echoed down the hall.

“I do not see why you are taking him.”

“You do not need to. You simply need to retrieve him.”

“Yes, Brother.” The words came from stiff lips. “Should I deliver him to your bed while I am at it?”

“You will deliver him to it and cuff him to it, as well, if need be. We cannot afford him being a distraction for us tonight.” It was unbelievable that in the moment he had nearly let himself forget how important the evening was, that it would bring the downfall of their former brother.

____________________

It was stupid to run. It was so, so stupid to run, but he couldn’t do this. Stryver had never, ever made him do something like this, and the very idea made him sick. His mind went back to his first heat, of being mindlessly rutted by uncaring hands without a face, and there was no way he could do that again, that coldness fucking into him while he couldn’t stop begging for more. He nearly hyperventilated at the very idea.

“Robin!”

He swung around with his fist clenched and punched as hard as he could. Shouting in aggravation when Barsad caught his hand easily, flipped him around so that he was in his arms, being hugged from behind.

“Shh, shh, Robin, it is ok.”

“It’s not fucking ok!” He closed his eyes tightly and struggled. “I won’t do it! H-how could he think I could do this?” How could he trade him out like he was just an object, a toy to play with and toss back? They were mates. It was supposed to mean something.

“Bane has me, John; he doesn’t want your heat. I do not know why he is keeping you, but you are safe.”

“Safe?” he scoffed. “I’m not fucking safe!”

“You are. You have to trust me. Can you trust me?”

“How can I? You’re working with him! You’re MATED to him.” God only knew what Barsad had been through, and he thought he could actually keep John safe from it?

“I am, which is why I know he will not harm you.” He rocked him a little in his arms, and John nearly cried at the memories there, of when he’d be upset and Barsad would do that for him. “Please, come back with me.”

“I can’t!”

“You must.” He paused and it was nearly spat out. “Think of what your mate would do should he find out you ‘embarrassed’ him?”

Philip. He sucked in a shuddery breath. How could he? He dropped his head down in defeat. Barsad’s fingers trailed down the back of his neck.

“It will be ok, Robin. I promise.”

____________________

It was strange to travel down to the sewers with Robin, it stirred up so many memories even though the sewers had changed so greatly since then. Robin watched with sharp eyes, and he felt a spark of pride at how cleverly he grabbed onto every piece of information and processed it. He had always had such a keen eye for every detail.

“What are they doing down here?” He watched as construction went on, Daggett’s men overseen by their own hurrying to pour the last of the concrete, to do last-minute work on structures. “How are there so many fucking people down here?”

“They know how to hide.”

“You showed them how,” Blake realized. “You fucking traitor.”

“Traitor implies I ever held any loyalty in my heart towards Gotham,” he spat out, nodding to Kojo as they passed him. He ignored the curious look in his eyes.

“Good to know.”

“Robin. You were never part of Gotham to me.” He passed into a more secluded tunnel and touched his fingers lightly to his elbow. “You are above this city and its rot.”

Robin pulled away. “My name is John.”

They didn’t speak again until he took them to the area that had been set aside as their living space. He untied the hanging cloths so that Robin had a little privacy. His eyes went to the bed and his jaw clenched.

“I need you to wait here, Robin. We will be back tonight.”

“This is Bane’s room,” he realized.

“And mine. You are safe here.”

“If you think I’m just going to sit here and—”

“I have orders to cuff you if you try to leave.” He looked down at the floor, unable to see Robin’s face when he said it. He heard his rapid breathing well enough, like Barsad had cornered him, trapped him. It hurt to realize that he had.

“Robin—”

“Don’t fucking talk to me.” He sat down on the floor beside the cot, wrapped his arms around his legs, staring straight ahead, an action Barsad had seen him take before when he was angry, close to exploding and choosing to shut down, instead. “Why did you have to come back? Everything was going ok until you came back.”

He was heartbroken when he heard that whisper. “You weren’t supposed to be here, Robin. You weren’t supposed to be here.” There was little else he could think to say before he left the room.

It took several breathing exercises in the hallway to compose himself. It would be foolish to worry his brethren if any should see him looking so unsure. There was no time for such things. He turned when he heard footsteps, purposefully loud, and Kojo was there with him, tilting his head and always too perceptive for his own good.

“You know that boy.”

He growled, clearly not as composed as he wished to be after being interrupted. “He’s not a boy.”

Kojo merely smiled brightly. “Thank you for confirming it.” His face turned more serious. “What is happening, Barsad? Share with me.”

“I cannot, friend.”

“Then share with your mate, because it is clear in your troubled eyes that you are shouldering a burden alone.”

He shook his head. “You are needed to stand guard over the entrance until we return tonight. Do not let him leave.”

“Should I use deadly force?”

He hadn’t meant to snarl or to shove up against Kojo, fist going to an old weak spot in his side. Kojo grunted in pained surprise, his training taking over quickly, and Barsad was pressed bodily against the wall, a thick arm blocking his airway.

“Oh, old friend. What have you gotten yourself into?” Kojo’s arm relaxed and he sounded sympathetic. “Whatever is wrong, fix it quickly. Bane needs you strong by his side.”

He broke out of his hold and straightened himself. “I am always strong, and I am always by my mate’s side.”


	15. Chapter 15

When he went to find Bane, he found him speaking with their thief. She had made her deal with them already and she leaned casually against the wall of the sewer as she listened to Bane’s instructions, where to lead their former brother.

The man had always seemed stupidly optimistic about his own strength. He would not question if their brothers fell easily before him. He would never suspect that that was what they had been instructed to do, to not make it seem too easy for him.

He had certainly suspected nothing on the rooftop of Daggett’s estate, after all. Bane had spoken of it, how he had informed the men to let him go with only a cursory fight. It had not been time to end their brother yet.

He watched as Ms. Kyle waved her hand dismissively, as though she did not fear Bane. They both knew she was wiser than that. Bane left then, to go prepare himself for the battle. Barsad did not doubt his brother’s victory, but it would be foolish for him not to ready himself simply because Mr. Wayne had gone into hiding for so many years.

If he had not felt the weight of betrayal in his own heart, then perhaps he would not have noticed it in her stance, the way her smile was casual and nearly flirtatious, trying to belie the heaviness in her eyes.

She turned and he spoke. “You are going to seek escape after tonight.”

She stilled and tilted her head to look at him, eyes flashing slightly. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes. It shows you are much wiser than you wish others to see. Do not go by plane.”

She turned back around, pursed her lips and looked him over. It was clear she was wary to trust him, or perhaps anyone, a lifetime of relying on only herself. He could admire that. “I’ll get stopped trying something else.”

“You will be stopped there. You are a wanted woman, Selina Kyle. It does you no credit to hide in plain sight.” He gave her a small smile. “You are far too attractive to not be noticed there.”

Her stance changed, turned seductive as though she was slipping into a fresh change of clothes, completely changing as she needed. It was truly a skill, perhaps her best. “And what do you want, then, for your help, handsome?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I need nothing in my brother’s service.” He honestly wasn’t sure why he helped her; perhaps it eased the guilt in his own heart to help her run from what was in hers. “If you are caught, though, you may talk, and that would do no one any good.”

He pulled paper from his pocket, scribbled down a name and she took it warily. “Go there, ask for Olivia. She is the one who does our smuggling. You will be slipped out.”

“In a body bag,” she shot back. “Why should I trust you?”

“You do not have much of a choice if you wish to escape this island before the storm finally hits,” he promised her and left. The talk had meant he would have little time to prepare himself mentally should his mate need his skills on the ground.

“You will watch from above, along the platform, with the others, Barsad.” Bane walked out and tested the chains in their makeshift theater.

They had little doubt the fight there would quickly reach the ground, and Barsad had originally been stationed below, lying in weight on the extremely slim chance that his brother needed his aid. It always paid off to err on the side of caution.

“That was not what we agreed,” he spoke hesitantly, well aware that they had an audience of other league members. He always worked hard to not lash out at Bane in public as he did in private, never wishing to seem disrespectful to their leader.

“The plan has changed. I hardly need you by my side as I fight.”

The barb stung deeply. Bane was tense. Things were said without thinking in such moments. He merely nodded stiffly and took his place on the platform. He might not understand his mate’s sudden change in plans, but he watched in silence as Bane took out vengeance on Mr. Wayne in Talia and her father’s name.

It was unspoken that this needed to be done not only to be sure their plan would proceed, but that it would also be part of justice, to be certain that Mr. Wayne suffered, and suffer he would. The plan had already been readied, and they would be traveling with him to where Talia had grown, where Bane had been formed in the darkness. Bane had already informed him, quite politely, that he would remove his fingers if he tried to descend into the pit with him.

_“I will share with you many things, lamb, my past, my scars, but I will never share the pit with you.”_

He had been angry at first, until he realized that Bane meant it as a gift to him, for him to never see that horror.

He was jarred from his thoughts when he saw Mr. Wayne get in several strikes. He tensed, even knowing his brother’s strength; it always made his blood boil to see his mate being beaten down. It did not last long. He brother was quick to recover from a few lucky hits, and Bane pummeled into him. The cracking of Mr. Wayne’s helmet could be heard even from above.

When Bane signaled for the detonator, he tossed it down to him and covered his ears. The explosions had been carefully planned, and the debris clouded the air, but was clear from them. He watched through the cloud of dust as Bane lifted Mr. Wayne, crushed him down over his knee.

It was quiet on the plane when he slipped into an uneasy sleep for the long flight, quiet when he helped lower Bane down into the pit. He wished he could know what was being said, but was content that it would be something to crush their former brother’s spirit. He helped raise Bane and it was quiet again, their eyes did not meet. His brother was clearly deep in thought, and it was only as they sat across from one another in the cargo hold of the private plane, alone, that Bane finally addressed him.

“I have a question for you, Barsad.” He stood with a low groan as he spoke, pacing the small area restlessly. Bane had always held a dislike for flying, handling it fine when he was among others, but privately with him his movements became more edgy, his fingers fidgeted.

“What is it?”

“It is a hypothetical thing. If we had a brother among us who was invaluable, yet you knew he had a vice, something that would make him slip from the path. What would you do?”

“End him,” Barsad spoke without hesitation. “We are too close to our plan’s culmination for any to question the path.”

Bane shook his head, surprising him. “But this brother… he is invaluable to us.” Bane put his hand against the side of the plane and sighed. “We could not end him.”

“Everyone can be replaced.” He stood up quickly. “If there is one I must find another for, let me know now, and I will do so.”

“He cannot be replaced.” Bane paced stiffly again.

Barsad considered the question carefully. There were invaluable members among them now, those who knew about explosives, about engineering. “Then, if it is not such a simple thing as to end them, you must guide them back to the path, for the good of the mission.”

“And how would one do that?”

He shrugged slightly. “By removing the vice. What reason would they have to slip without it?”

____________________

Blake got off the floor eventually because sitting there feeling sorry for himself was going to get him fucking nowhere. His legs were shaky and he felt the desire to take off running welling up in him, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d seen all of those quite well-armed men out there. Whatever small protection Barsad offered him wasn’t here, now. He felt like he’d been dropped off into a lion’s den by his own mate, and fuck, it hurt.

He’d have to do it. The thought made him sick. If he didn’t, then he was sure that Bane would have no inclination to keep either him or Philip alive. Besides, when his heat hit, he’d ask for it all the same, he thought bitterly.

His heats hit him hard and vicious. He’d tried to refuse an alpha the first time he was alone for one. He didn’t know how the fuck Barsad had managed. Barsad had always been more stubborn than even him, though, and Barsad hadn’t had an alpha waiting in bed with him, urging him to just lift his ass up like a good boy so he could get started.

He swallowed down the bile that rose to his throat. He couldn’t imagine it being like that again, or how much worse it might be with Bane. He still had a cracked rib from him that he could feel every time he breathed. How broken would he be when his heat was over? Would there be anything left of him to send back to Philip?

Those kinds of thoughts would get him nowhere, and he wasn’t going to sit there idly when he could possibly be helping. Barsad had confiscated his cell phone, no surprise there, but there was a lot of stuff in the curtained-off area. If any of it was useful information, maybe he could send in another tip to the police.

It also felt good to take the place apart, piece things together, vindictively rip a hole or three in some of what had to be Bane’s shirts tucked away in a storage trunk.

The sturdy laptop set up by the bed was locked-up tight. He couldn’t even begin to think of the correct password a crazy mercenary would use. He tried a couple anyway with no luck. There were papers, though they turned out to be a dead end. All encrypted. He flipped through a few and stopped, running his finger lightly over the page when he realized he was looking at Barsad’s handwriting in a few spots. It looked different in code, but there was still the same scratchy quality to it that he had always teased him no one but he could read. He guessed Bane could read it now.

He sat down with a frustrated sigh and tugged off his tie. It felt pretty ridiculous to be wearing nice clothes down here in the sewers. His suit jacket went next, and then honestly he didn’t know what to do with himself. There didn’t seem to be much to learn here.

Maybe he’d just have a look out of the curtains.

And up into the towering frame of a giant mercenary. He sucked in a startled breath and backed away cautiously.

“Ah, were you coming to see me?” the man asked, laughing and setting down a bowl of food. “I’m certain you were just looking for food, weren’t you?”

“I—”

“Because if you were just looking for food, I would have no reason to chain you to the bed.”

“Oh, good. You brought food,” he said quickly, grabbing up the bowl, shoveling some noodles into his mouth. He paused then, and chewed a little slower, tried not to moan. Philip had him on a strict diet to make sure he kept a good appearance, and macaroni and cheese was definitely a no-no.

But who was he to say no to the man with the big gun strapped on his back? He sat on the cot and shoveled in some more gooey cheesy goodness, keeping an eye on the guy who had brought him his meal.

He tossed him a bottle of water and leaned against the desk, watching him eat. It was a little uncomfortable.

“Can I fucking help you?” he asked around a mouthful of food because even when his ribs hurt, when he’s tense and Philip’s not around to help, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

The man tipped his head back and laughed. “I can see why he likes you.”

He paused mid spoonful, swallowing slowly. “Who?” he asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew who.

“Barsad.”

He set his spoon back down. “You know him, then?”

“Oh yes, for many, many years, since he came to us.” The man studied him carefully. “But, perhaps, you have known him even longer.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He set the bowl down uncomfortably. Whatever Barsad was doing, he still wasn’t going to blow his cover if he was somehow passing as a beta and helping Bane lead these men, and he had no doubt that was the case. Why would anyone follow him, otherwise?

“Oh, I think you do. I think you’re a ghost from my brother’s past. We know Barsad is from this city.”

“I don’t know him,” he said flatly.

“What a bold faced liar you are,” the man replied. “I like it. I’m Kojo. I’ll bring you breakfast in a few hours. If you have to piss, just shout.”

“Wait, breakfast? When is Barsad coming back? Where is he?” He winced, realizing his tone was probably too telling.

“Right now? Halfway across the world. He will be back soon, though,” Kojo replied.

“Yeah,  great.” He fucking left him here overnight by himself. He picked his bowl back up and ate a few more bites. “If he was going to make me come here, he could have at least waited until it was closer to my fucking heat.”

Kojo, who had been parting the curtains, paused at that, turned to look at him. “Now why would Bane bring you here when he has a very demanding, fuckable, omega mate of his own?”

He paused warily, played dumb. “Bane has a mate?”

“Of course,” Kojo laughed, “and all of Bane’s men are wise enough to know Barsad would slit the throat of any who tried to take Bane from him. So, why are you here, I wonder?”

Blake reeled. “You know Barsad is an omega?”

“Well, of course.” Kojo gave him a curious look then nodded, eyes darker for a moment. “Ah, yes, sometimes it is easy to forget just how poorly you are treated.”

Blake rolled his eyes. The guy didn’t real look like an omegaist or anything, but he didn’t want to hear some spiel about how he was being repressed. He was just fine how he was, and besides, that wasn’t what was important. These guys knew Barsad was an omega, he wasn’t hiding it here, and yet when he saw Barsad out with Bane or walking him to the room, everyone had demurred to him automatically.

“Christ, is Bane really scary enough that everyone even listens to his omega?”

Kojo blinked, “I think you are underestimating your old friend.” He took John’s empty bowl. “Barsad is scary enough for the men to fall into place on their own. He is our second, and we would follow him to our deaths just as we would our leaders.”

Kojo must have seen the stunned look on his face, because he leaned in and lightly patted his shoulder. Blake was too startled to even jerk away from the friendly gesture, that this guy would so casually touch someone’s omega. These men didn’t make any sense. He didn’t understand the rules here, and he felt a homesick pang to his stomach when Kojo left.

____________________

“Have you spent the entire flight worrying?” he asked when he woke an hour or so before landing. Different brothers had come into the cargo hold to sleep, but they were alone again. He had opened his eyes to see Bane watching him, not entirely surprising since Bane seemed to enjoy watching him rest. His look was not the one of fondness that he usually saw when they laid out together, though. This was darker, mostly closed off. It unsettled him.

“Perhaps.” There was no usual teasing to his tone. It did nothing to settle his nerves. His sleep had been fitful at best already, worrying about how he might fix this situation and not hurt his brother or Robin in the process, not jeopardize their entire mission.

“Has something gone wrong?” He stood quickly, stretching. “What can be done?”

“I have merely been debating on the situation that awaits us back in our cot.”

“He is of no use to us; I don’t understand why you took him to begin with.”

Bane looked at him and he stilled. There was coldness there. It had never been aimed at him, and it made his knees quake, his body shiver with goose bumps.

“You are correct, brother.” The title was spat out with malice. “There is no use of him to either of us.”

“And what will you do?” Barsad questioned tightly, feeling anxiety rising in his chest, blood rushing to his ears.

“I will remove the vice.”


	16. Chapter 16

Something changed in his mate’s eyes; they went from tired to that of an animal. A vicious sound ripped out of Barsad’s throat when he launched himself at him, attacked him with clenched fists and pure rage.

“I will not let you!”

Barsad was formidable, but not when his anger ruled him as it did now. His ire rose to meet it when his own mate lashed out at him. He snarled and grabbed his shoulders, slammed him into the cargo wall, felt him thrash in his hold, helpless.

His mate’s strength came from his calm calculation of a fight, his ability to seek out vulnerability and ruthlessly exploit it. When he was calm, few could best him. Here, he was weak. Bane shoved his weight against him, felt the sharp exhale of breath being knocked from his lungs.

He growled. “Did you think I would not find out?”

Barsad shook his head, tried to push at him. Bane did not give him the leverage. “You said yourself, Barsad, to remove the vice, and that is what will be done.”

His words sent up a new flare of energy, and he felt pride that his mate could be so strong, so fearless, but it was mixed with a sense of melancholy. He trailed the back of his fingers wistfully across Barsad’s cheek, watched his struggle.

“I care for you too much to do what should be done to a traitorous mate such as yourself.” He pressed his mask sharply against his forehead and breathed in his scent with remorse, his voice soft. “I would not have denied you it, if you had just come to me and told me your need.” He pulled his head back and studied his face, his wide eyes and open mouth as he struggled for air. “If you have ever cared for me, you will tell me how many of these lovers you have had in the past, so that I might at least know.”

He leaned back, taking a portion of his weight from Barsad so he could breathe to speak.

 “You think—” Barsad stopped and made a choking noise. “You do not understand!”

He growled. “There is much about _this_ that I do not understand.”

“I would never—”

“Do not lie.” His voice went cold, harsh. He shoved him again, barely resisted the urge to shake him. “I saw you, faithful lamb,” he nearly spat the words, “in the hall. Do you think me stupid? Do you think that I would believe such a kiss as that was only a kiss?”

“No, NO, Bane!” Barsad jerked his head back, shook it vehemently. “It is not, he—” he faltered a moment. “He is my Robin,” was finally sobbed out, as though his heart was breaking from the strain.

Barsad was shaking under his weight. Comprehension slowly dawned on Bane and his heavy heart eased in his chest.  This was not betrayal. He felt his own body threaten to waver with his mate. He pressed his forehead to his cheek.

“Barsad… how could you not tell me this?”

“Our mission… I could not—” His voice was rough with grief. “Please, please, I will not see him again, but do not hurt him.”

He grasped then that his lamb had not done this to deceive him, but in an attempt to take on this burden himself, to spare him doubt, to spare him a troubling matter that could be difficult when their plans were so close to culminating.

Barsad had not strayed, had not been trying to keep a wandering heart secreted away from him. This was not wasted lust. This was his Robin, his beloved bird. Bane could no more fault his love and desire for him than he would expect Barsad to fault him for Talia.

“Shh, you have been carrying unnecessary weight on your shoulders, lamb." He tapped his fingers over his lips. "What you hold purely in your heart I could never purposefully harm.”

Barsad’s eyes closed in relief. Bane wordlessly wiped a streak of wetness from his lashes.

“I was a fool to not question. To think my loyal lamb could stray,” he said regretfully. He sank down to the floor and pulled him into his lap, sliding his fingers under his scarf and stroking over their bond mark in a wordless apology.

“No, I was an idiot to try and keep it. How could you think anything else, if you saw me there?”

“A decade together, and not one sign? I let my anger cloud my mind, make me suspicious. You must forgive me.”

Barsad’s lips turned up into a small smile. “Only if you will forgive me.”

“Never, for there is nothing to forgive.”

“Then I shall not, either.” He shoved at his shoulder. Bane growled, wrapped his arms around him tightly and shook him playfully until he was laughing, breathless and loose with it.

“Stop, I still will not!”

“You are cruel,” he said finally, pulling him tightly to him. Barsad tucked his head under his neck and sighed, found his hand and played there.

“He was never meant to be there. I would never—”

He gave his hand a squeeze to stop him. “I know you would not. The question now is what we will do.”

“We?” He shook his head, his hair tickling at Bane’s throat. “I cannot ask you to help in this.”

“You are not, I am insisting.” He touched over his lips, felt his fingertips kissed. “I will not let you face this alone any more than you would let me.”

Barsad smiled unrepentantly, knowing it to be true. “I would have skinned you for keeping this from me.”

“There is still time for me to do the same to you,” he warned.

Barsad laughed sharply, and then turned somber, sighing. “I do not know what to do. His mate is a vile creature. I would choke the life out of him again and again if I could.”

“You can,” Bane pointed out. “In fact, I’m sure you can be much more creative than that.”

“And earn Robin’s hatred.” He sighed again. “He loves him. How can he do it when he treats him as he does? Barters him, abuses him.” Barsad’s hands gripped tightly with anger, his nails biting into his own palms.

“He was very alone. It is not unusual. In the pit, I saw men slink back on their bellies to those who defiled them, beat them, again and again because it was there they might receive even scraps of attention.”

“The world is a lonely place,” Barsad agreed sadly. “I only wished for him to find someone in it who deserved him.”

“I feel if he is as you say, then it can only be you who deserves him, Barsad.”

He scoffed bitterly. “And yet, I am the one person who cannot have him.”

Bane contemplated it, ran his hand down Barsad’s back in silence before he spoke hesitantly. “There is no reason that you cannot have him.”

“Bane, he is mated, _we_ are mated.”

“Bonds can be broken.”

His head snapped back sharply into the metal wall when Barsad shoved at him, bared his teeth.

“If you think I would ever let you break our bond—”

He rumbled with laughter, tumbling Barsad out of his lap and pinning him to the floor of the hold.

“I know I will never be rid of you. I was not speaking of our bond.”

“Robin’s,” he realized. “It is risky, if they are too close… it could kill him.”

“Are they so close?”

Barsad hesitated. “I do not know, honestly.”

“Then it is your task to distance them, to make your Robin let go of Stryver, make him understand what an unworthy mate he is, until you can be certain that, should the bond be broken, it will not take him with it.”

“Even if I can do that, what difference will it make? Even if Stryver dies, he will remain bonded in spirit. I cannot bond with him as an omega, and the only way to truly break a bond is for another to be formed.”

“That does present a problem,” he agreed, hesitating before he continued, “which is why I am offering myself to do it for you by proxy.”

It was rare but not unheard of for alphas to have more than one omega bonded to them. Usually, it was only seen in situations where the alpha was quite rich or powerful, using their omegas as a harem. He was willing to do this for Barsad, though, to keep safe what he held dear.

“Bane…” Barsad breathed his name out softly, ran his fingers down his mask in gratitude. It was enough for Bane to see the glint of wary hope lighting his lamb’s eyes, the idea that he might be able to be with his Robin, at last.

A quick roll and Barsad had managed to leverage Bane onto his back. Bane chuckled at his cleverness and rubbed his back when he settled on top of him. “Does the idea please you?”

“I should protest, should tell you that it is too much,” Barsad touched lightly over his vest to where his mark lie underneath, “but I am too selfish to do so. What of Robin, though? He would never agree. He thinks you abuse me, he thinks—” He stopped, then, and Bane understood.

“I am used to being recognized as a monster.”

“Hush, you are never a monster.  You are what is needed of you to save this world from itself.”

“Be that as it may, he does not need to like me. He need only agree to it to be with you.”

“That is not fair for you,” Barsad protested.

“You alone are often more than I can handle.” His eyes crinkled at the sudden wicked smirk he received.

“That is true, but still,” he lay his head against his chest, “you would be beautiful together.”

He made an amused noise, tousled through Barsad’s hair. “I am certain you would see it through his heats.”

Barsad blinked, clearly not having thought of it. “He would need you for his heats, wouldn’t he?”

“I would not force him, but I doubt if we bonded he would be able to resist going to me for them.”

It was strange to even think of being with another beyond Barsad. He knew his body, was able to touch every inch of his skin and know how he would react for him. The thought of unexplored territory was not something that entirely appealed to him, though he knew many would find the idea humorous, that he would not jump at the idea to have two omegas to mate with. He was doing this for Barsad, nothing more.

  
“His heat will be while he is with us… will you take him through it, even unbonded?”

That gave him pause. “Without the bonding, there would be no need for me. Perhaps another alpha could ease him.”

“Or, it can be used to our advantage. Let me be with you both for it. We can show him that you are the best mate he could hope for.”

"Or it can also be used to show him that he will not be forced into something with me. You could take him during it. With my scent there, it should be enough to ease him."

"Me?" Barsad asked. Bane nearly chuckled when he could sense his arousal at the very thought. "Are you certain?"

"I will be more than content to watch."

 Barsad's lips curled into a smile before he paused suddenly. “What will Talia think?”

“If it is for you? She will only approve. She is… sentimental when it comes to you.”

“I will not tell her you said such a thing; I enjoy your head on your shoulders.”

Bane rumbled in amusement, and they spent the rest of their time on the plane quietly planning. This was something that could not be done without some deception, some coaxing on their parts, and Bane understood that his mate did not like to do so to Robin, but he had been brainwashed and it would take persuasion to help him see that.


	17. Chapter 17

John chewed his way through a bowl of oatmeal that Kojo had dropped off. He was starting to get antsy. He'd asked about Barsad again, gotten a 'soon' before the other man had left. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. He just knew he wanted to get out of here and he couldn't, not with Philip's life depending on it.

It was a fair trade, that was what he'd made himself accept the night before, going to sleep in the corner of the room since there was no way he was sleeping in Bane's cot; one heat for their lives. It wasn't Philip's fault that he had all of these hang-ups, he was just trying to do what was best for both of them. He probably wouldn't even remember much of his heat, anyway.

His stomach lurched a bit and he had to set aside the bowl, giving up on breakfast. He did a quick check of everything in the room again, just to make sure there wasn't anything he could glean for the police. Halfway through studying the maps again he could hear footsteps from beyond the curtains. He quickly shoved everything back into place and skidded back down to sit in the corner as he was joined in the room.

"Robin," Barsad greeted him warmly, and then tilted his head. "Have you spent the whole time on the floor? Surely you're cold."

He shrugged, not letting himself be effected by the fact that Barsad was there, even though now every time he saw his old friend he felt a rush of warmth in his chest. "Where did you go?" That, he could do. He could try to get all of the information he could so he could phone it in to the police when he got out of here.

Barsad smiled and sat down beside him on the floor, leaned against the wall and put out a hand as he spoke, "Across the world and back, Robin."

"That's what that other asshole said. I meant specifically."

"Ah, Kojo took good care of you, then?"

"Yeah, this place is real ‘five stars’ all around. I can't wait to check out," Blake bit out in annoyance when his questioning was clearly being ignored. He yanked away when Barsad put a hand on his knee, winced when the sudden movement sent a flare of pain up his chest. His ribs were better, but definitely still not ok.

Barsad noticed and frowned. He slid to his knees and put his hand to the hem of his shirt. "Let me see?"

"Want to see the damage your mate did to me?" he spat out angrily.

Barsad fixed a steady gaze onto him. "Yes, I would, Robin."

"Stop calling me that," he argued quietly, but let him lift his shirt. He hated the ugly purple bruising there, couldn't help shivering slightly when Barsad's fingers touched delicately over it, so light that it didn't hurt, it soothed, which was its own sort of hurt. He closed his eyes and let himself just have it. He was going to be going through hell soon, surely Philip couldn't possibly fault him this, and it would be fine as long as Bane didn't catch them.

"I am sorry you were hurt, Robin. I am sorry Bane needed to do this to keep up appearances in Gotham."

He scoffed slightly, but couldn't bring himself to push Barsad's hands away. He startled when he felt his lips brush gently over the bruising in a tender kiss. He pushed his head back and stared.

"Are you trying to get us both fucking killed?" It was bad enough they'd kissed. John knew just what Barsad's mate was capable of, and he wasn't going to risk either of them getting hurt.

"And why would my mate's gentle tending cause you harm?"

Bane's strange mechanized tone startled him, made him jerk away and tug his shirt down, panic filling him. "We weren't—"

Barsad chuckled. "It's alright, Robin. Bane knows."

"What? What does he know?" He slid away on the concrete and into the small space between the cot and the table, knowing it was stupid, that he could be grabbed out of it by Bane like it was nothing, but it just felt safer to be boxed in at the moment while he watched Bane enter into the closed off area, looking down at him in the small space. What he really wanted to do was run, but running wasn't an option. Running meant the deal was off, and that deal felt like an invisible leash around his neck at the moment.

"I know of your relationship with my mate, little Robin."

"Don't you DARE fucking call me that," he snarled, leg kicking out in a rage towards Bane's direction just at the very thought of him using that name. His words sank in a moment later and he shook his head quickly. "There's nothing there."

"It's ok, Robin," Barsad tried to soothe him, like anything about what was going on could possibly be ok. "I have told him. Won't you come out so we can talk?"

"There's nothing stopping us from talking now." He felt like a child, but he couldn't stand the thought of coming out of there. He had never felt less safe. It settled in his gut like a lump and he just wanted to be tucked away somewhere quiet and warm. Part of him felt sick with the realization that he often had those kinds of nesting feelings right before his heat, that it might be close, and soon he would be crawling out and offering himself to Bane desperately.

"I will come down with you, then, hmm?" Barsad slid under the table and John went still with surprise when he lay down on the floor, put his head in his lap. He cast his glance up at Bane, waiting for him to tug his omega up to him, to punish him for being so intimate with someone else. Bane only looked at them almost curiously for a moment before he sat heavily on the cot, slowly unbuttoning his coat.

"Were you able to sleep, Robin?" Barsad asked. He reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. It was distracting, but he couldn't let him take his attention from Bane. He watched him sharply, every shift of muscle, every slow, methodical movement.

"Robin?"

"Hmm?" He made a questioning noise, distracted.

Barsad squeezed his fingers. "Look at me, little bird; have you slept?"

He tore his gaze away from Bane for a moment and glanced down, shrugged slightly before looking back up. "Not really."

Barsad clicked his tongue and stroked over his fingers. "You need rest before your heat comes, Robin. You will be exhausted, otherwise."

He shook his head at that. It had been hard enough sleeping in this room by himself, knowing it was Bane's. He didn't understand what was going on, why Bane was letting Barsad in here, letting him touch him and lay his head in his lap, but that still didn't mean he was going to let his guard down and fall asleep in his presence. Besides, the floor was cold. What little sleep he had gotten the night before had sent an ache through his back from leaning against the wall.

"I'm fine. I can't sleep here."

"You can, I'm sure," Barsad persisted. "Come out and lie on the cot."

"No fucking way."

"John," Bane spoke his name firmly, and John snapped his head back up, didn't flinch. He wouldn't fucking flinch for him. "Come out. Surely you cannot be so afraid of me."

He didn't mean to growl. He regretted it instantly, waited for another kick to the chest, to be dragged out from the small space. He squeezed Barsad's hand tightly and almost closed his eyes, but watched Bane fiercely, instead.

He didn't expect him to chuckle softly. It came out of the mask strangely, like a low hum. "There is such a fire in you, something that not even Gotham has been able to squelch. It is no wonder that my lamb is so taken with you, has held you in his heart for so long."

Barsad kissed his knuckles. He looked, of all things, proud that he had just done something so stupid. He didn't understand this at all. He was being a terrible omega, and they just seemed to be entertained. Barsad sat up, head ducked down under the table as he reached to cup his cheek.

"Please rest? You can rest in here, if it makes you feel safer. I'll fetch you some blankets."

He grabbed his wrist without thinking when he pulled back. "Don't." He didn't want him to leave him alone in here with this monster. That made Barsad pause and look towards Bane who stood and left without a word.

"Do you feel better in here?" Barsad asked in understanding, stroking his cheek. "Bane sometimes finds me tucked under all of our bedding and his coat when my heat is nearly there."

He closed his eyes tightly at that. It hurt to even think about them together, to think that he would be in the same situation soon enough. "I don't want to. How can you be ok with this? He's your mate; you shouldn't want him to be with someone else."

Barsad kissed his forehead, "I don't wish for him to just be with someone else. I wish him to be with you. Neither of us will force you, though, Robin. We leave that up to your treacherous mate. Bane will not touch you unless you go to him, first."

He scoffed bitterly. "So he'll just wait until the heat makes me so out of my mind that I beg him. That's not any better."

Barsad's fingers sifted into his hair and John went still when he kissed him tenderly, playfully, without the desperation of their last kiss. This one lingered, let Barsad flick his tongue over the swell of his lips before John sighed, parted them and moaned softly when the access was taken advantage of. This wasn't at all helping things, but it sure as hell was making him feel better.

"You misunderstand, my little bird," Barsad told him between kisses that John finally started returning, his hands bunching into the fabric of Barsad's shirt at his shoulders. "That's not what we had in mind." He pulled back to look at him, his lips a shade redder now, and his eyes glinting with excitement.

"Bane will be here during your heat, yes, but so will I." He paused to kiss him again, to wrap his arms around his shoulders. "With his alpha scent here, perhaps it will be enough to trick your body into being content enough to have me work you through your heat."

____________________

Barsad watched as his words sank in, how Robin's eyes went from shocked to uncertain.

"But—"

He kissed him again, humming contently when it was returned. "Your mate gave you to Bane to do with what he will. This is what he wants. It's what I want, too, if you're willing."

He leaned in to nuzzle at his neck, took his scent in slowly, savoring it, reveling in the fact that he didn't have to rush, could take his time and catalogue how different Robin's scent was from what he remembered. He supposed his was different, too. He kissed the warm skin at the crook of his neck and smiled against it when he felt the shiver.

"Why would he ever let you do that?" Robin asked uncertainly, but Barsad could hear the wary hope in his tone.

"Because I have spoken of you many times. He knows that you have always been in my mind, my heart, and he cares for me and wants me to be able to be with you."

There was disbelief in his eyes then, that Bane could ever be so caring, but Barsad would show him soon enough just how loving his mate was to those he held in his heart. He hoped that in time Robin would find himself in that place, as well; secure, safe, but not sheltered, not collared or cornered.

When Bane came back, he was carrying a handful of surplus blankets. Robin's muscles went tense, his grip on his shoulders became tight, clearly waiting for a reprimand for their obvious kisses exchanged. Barsad merely kissed his cheek and took the blankets, coaxing him to slide up so he could make a softer layer of blankets under him.

"Your shoes, Robin." He touched them lightly, and when he got a small nod he unlaced and pulled them off, persuaded Robin to strip down to his pants and undershirt so he'd be more comfortable, even though he flicked his eyes warily at Bane constantly, as if waiting for the reprimand for every action, as though he was used to constant instruction by an alpha.

The thought made Barsad have to calm himself a bit. There was nothing wrong with following orders, he enjoyed it often, to be able to just listen to Bane's instruction, but he had given that to his mate willingly, it had never been foisted onto him by a cruel system. His Robin had never been one to just follow orders.

He worked to make the small nook as comfortable as possible, wrapping a blanket or two around Robin and rubbing at his arms and shoulders until he could see how his eyes were beginning to droop.

"It's alright; you can lie down, Robin. I won't leave," he promised quietly. He was unsurprised by the headshake, but he kept encouraging, stroking through his hair and down the back of his neck until he could be persuaded to lie down on the soft pile. Barsad bent down to kiss his cheek once more before he tucked the blankets around him more snuggly and crawled out to sit on the cot with Bane, hearing Robin's breathing go heavy with sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

"I feel as though I don't even know where to begin with him," he confessed softly to Bane who pulled him into his lap, kneaded into his shoulders and worked out the kinks in his muscles from sleeping curled in the cargo pit. "He is so different, and yet I see so much of him still."

"You have him through his heat," Bane reminded him. "Proceedings can be delayed for several days, if need be."

He turned to face him and shook his head at that. "We cannot possibly delay."

"That is not for you to decide," Bane told him firmly. "Our ex-brother is already taken care of. Postponing costs us nothing at this point. I will send a communication through to our sister. She will be very interested to hear this news."

Barsad nodded. This was not something to argue over, not when it came to their plans for Gotham. Bane touched his thumb against his lips before he left to make arrangements. Barsad stayed, not wishing to leave Robin while he slept, as he’d promised. He looked over plans, instead.

Except his plans had most certainly been moved around.

It would have been easy for most to miss, but he was meticulous in how he laid out the maps and notes. Robin must have gone rummaging around, searching through all of their things. He would learn nothing with everything encrypted, but the fact that he had done it at all made Barsad feel a spark of warmth in his chest. Robin was far from broken. He was still determined and spirited, at least when he was alone. He just had to be taught that it was not something that needed to be hidden with them.

He worked for a few hours, listening to the soft breathing from under the blankets. It was relaxing, and by the time he tucked away his work, Bane had returned, insisting that they rest for a little, as well.

"If his heat is as soon as it seems to be, then you will need your rest, as well, lamb." He pushed him onto the bed when he tried to protest, chuckling softly when Barsad beat his fists against his arms indignantly until Bane kicked off his boots and climbed over him on the cot. It was cheating, then, for his mate to settle partly over him, trapping him under his warmth, his strong muscles and his soothing, familiar scent. That coupled with a heavy hand stroking his side had his own eyes drifting shut quickly.

It didn't surprise him to wake to the air smelling sweeter, thicker, to hear a soft murmur of desire coming from the bundle of blankets in the corner. He had suspected Robin’s heat was not far off with his desire for a small space, to be enclosed. He could feel Bane's cock stiff against his leg as they slept, his mate having caught John's scent through the mask’s filtering. He wriggled out from under him carefully, a task he was quite used to at this point, enough that he could do it without waking his mate on most days. Today, though, he rubbed his shoulder, kissed the top of his head when he felt him stir.

"He is ready. Were you able to bring it?"

"Yes, it’s on the table," Bane answered, sitting up slowly. He watched as Barsad took the bottle of liquid and slipped down under the table, gently peeling back the blankets. Robin's cheeks and throat were flushed even as he held on his last bit of sleep. Sweat was just beginning to bead on his forehead, and Barsad brushed his mussed hair from it, watched as even the small action had him tilting his head to follow the touch.

He murmured in sympathy when Robin curled in more after a moment, a soft noise of confusion and upset leaving him. "Shh, wake up, little bird. It is alright." He smiled when Robin's eyes fluttered open slowly, sleep taking a few moments to shake from his vision before he realized the situation. His eyes immediately went to Bane on the cot, clear anxiousness filling him.

Barsad turned his head back towards him, stroking his cheek. His mouth dropped open in response, a small pant escaping him. He smelled delicious. His heat scent wouldn't tip him over into an instinctive rut like it would an alpha, but it thrilled him, made his blood heat up to know Robin needed him.

"Drink this for me." He put it into his hands, watching Robin's eyes narrow for a moment in confusion before he realized and drank the bottle, making a face before setting it down.

"It's too hot," he complained, kicking off the blankets. He rolled onto his back and Barsad let his hand slide under his shirt to rest on the heated skin of his stomach. He watched his eyes, beautiful if a bit clouded as they blinked slowly, seemed to register better what was happening, what would happen.

"We're really—" Robin stopped, moaning softly from even just his thumb slipping into his pants and rubbing small circles along his groin. He swallowed heavily and his fingers went to Barsad's shoulders, tugging him down for a kiss. "I can't believe this," he muttered softly against his lips, a low whine escaping his throat when Barsad's hand slipped lower to pet the crease of his thigh.

"Come to the cot. It will be more comfortable."

He was unsurprised by the quick shake of Robin's head at that, how his fingers dug into him when he pulled back from the kiss and gave him a reassuring smile. "It will be ok. It's too crowded under here."

His eyes kept flicking to Bane. He didn't understand Bane's control, though, how Barsad knew that if Robin was spread and begging him Bane would not take advantage of him during his heat if he knew it was not something both he and Barsad desired. His brother was a shining example of control and just how ridiculous it was to act as though omegas needed sheltering from alphas who were swayed by their scents.

"Trust me, Robin."

"I can't just trust you," he whimpered. His voice was thick with need, and it was cruel, perhaps, to use it to his advantage, but he needed the push.

He leaned back down to nuzzle his ear, whispered against it, "Come to the cot, my little bird, and I will touch every bit of you, take you deep and cool down all of that heat in your body."

His gentle whispers had Robin wrapping his arms tightly around him, trying to touch as much of him as possible before he nodded sharply. "Ok, ok."

When he helped him stand, he walked backwards with him, pulled back onto the cot so that he sprawled in his lap, rewarding him with kisses down his throat. He gripped his ass and made an approving noise at how Robin gasped, trying to push back into his hands eagerly. Robin butted his head against his shoulder, softly begging for it. It sounded sweet, but it wasn't what Barsad wanted. He guided his head up and kissed him firmly.

"You never have to beg me. You should never have to beg anyone," he told him firmly, watching how cloudy eyes focused on him in confusion. He merely kissed him again and helped him lie out. Bane shifted so he sat at the edge of the cot. Robin's head ended up close to him, and that had him lying still, his breathing shallower as he stared up at Bane's powerful form.

"He's close so you can scent him, Robin, so your body thinks you are with an alpha," he explained gently, stripping his own clothes off and then helping Robin with his, admiring his body, so grown from before when they did this as youths. He was lean, still, but there was more muscle in his frame, hidden strength.

Robin clearly didn't like the idea, but even with the heat slowing his thoughts he did understand it, settling when Barsad stroked his thighs. "Do you want me to turn you over?" He had asked knowing how strong instincts could be, how they sometimes screamed at him that his knees was the best possible place in the world to be as Bane rutted him. He was startled when Robin grabbed onto his wrists and shook his head frantically, eyes clear and looking spooked.

"No. Just… not that," he grated out roughly. "I need to see you."

"On your back like this, then," he quickly agreed, not understanding, but he glanced up at Bane and they shared a knowing look. This was something to be explored later, not when his Robin was growing desperate. He nearly chuckled at how he was tugging his wrists down towards himself demandingly, seeming to catch himself and let go, looking mortified.

"It's alright," he soothed, "go ahead." It would do him good to take control, and he kept encouraging until Robin took hold of his hand again, looking almost embarrassed as he guided his hand between his cheeks. His head dropped back heavily onto the cot and he arched when Barsad stroked his fingers through the wet there.

Robin's body jerked sharply when he pressed his fingers into him. When he bit into his bottom lip, Barsad leaned down to kiss it, told him not to hide his noises. He stroked over his body as he encouraged Robin to ride his fingers, twisting them and adding a third until Robin was gripping down on the blankets, his cock twitching and an angry shade of red. Barsad knew from how his eyes would glance over that he could smell Bane, his arousal at the display, but he was too heated now to fret over him, and Barsad smiled inwardly when Robin's squirming shifted him closer to Bane, when his head was turned slightly towards him to better take in his rich scent.

____________________

He was drowning, John was certain of it. The air was too thick, it was always so thick and heavy when his heat hit, always too hot, but this was worse, there was just so much scent, so much touch. Philip wasn't there and that wormed into his stomach, made the mark on his neck itch. He was so used to his scent, use to his hand on his stomach holding him steady while he took care of his heat for him.

This was so different, though. This was Barsad, encouraging him to touch with him, touching him in return with his slender fingers that couldn't seem to settle in one place if he tried, that wanted to touch every bit of him, that stroked over his lips whenever he tried to stifle his cries because he tried not to be too noisy, too wanton, too undignified for his mate. The scent was wrong, too. Barsad was there and he could smell his sweat, spicy and mingling with the scent of an alpha with a stronger musk to it than he was used to, a sharper scent that wasn't Philip, but that his heat had him seeking out still even while Barsad touched him, opened him.

He was kissed when Barsad breeched him with the head of his cock, stretching him open around him. Philip didn't like to kiss often, especially not during a heat, so to feel those lips against his, so tender while he was finally, finally being filled like he needed, felt more perfect than it ever should have. It made his toes curl into the bedding while Barsad groaned out, and their bodies pressed flush together for only a moment before he was thrusting into him, the steady pumping making it feel like fire was licking over his nerves.

Barsad didn't let him keep still, he held his hips, helped him to rise up and push onto his cock, making their bodies meet, making him slide so deeply into him. He was used to being good and still, but this, this meant he got to choose how quickly he got to feel Barsad's cock driving into him. It meant that he could change the angle of his hips and feel him glancing over his prostate, sending sharp spasms of pleasure into his belly with each brush. He arched his back and scraped his nails down Barsad's chest when his orgasm shook through him.

His breathing ripped through his chest raggedly as he tried to recover. Barsad was groaning, low against his neck as he thrust forward, and John wrapped his arms around him quickly, closed his eyes tightly and savored the feeling of him swelling, his heat scent driving Barsad to knot, a rarity for an omega. It wasn't as large of a knot as an alpha and he knew it wouldn't last as long, but Barsad was locked inside of him, filling him with warmth, something he never dreamed he would ever get to feel, and it quenched the unbearable heat, brought clarity to his mind. It let him laugh softly, and just for a few minutes forget everything, forget that this wasn't the past, forget that it was only for this heat. He felt a small smile pull at his cheeks, felt heavy panting against his neck.

"Laughing at me, Robin?"

"Nn," he squirmed under him, made a content noise, "you feel really good."

Barsad hummed softly and kissed over his neck, licked a light trail to his jaw before he nipped there. John kept his eyes closed until Barsad whispered for him to look at him.  When he did, he caught sight of Bane again, and quickly flicked his eyes back to Barsad. He didn't understand how Bane could just sit there while he was in heat.

His mind went back to the first alpha he'd been paired with, all of the impatient prodding until he’d finally put his ass up. Bane hadn't even said a word to him, hadn't tried to touch him, even though John was an inch away. He could smell his arousal, he had to be hard as hell, but he was clothed, still, sitting and watching them. It would be unnerving if it wasn't such a relief. He hated to admit it, but his scent was helping. He needed him to stay close, and couldn't resist breathing deep when need sparked in his belly again, when he pulled at Barsad's shoulders insistently until he laughed gently and began to move for him.

Barsad couldn't go as long without his heat, but he did everything he could for him, took him as long as he could. When he was tired and slick with sweat, he worked him with his fingers, rubbed mercilessly at the nerves inside of him while he sucked him into his mouth until he was keening and writhing on the bed, collapsing down into an exhausted heap, knowing it was far from over but too tired at the moment to go on.

"Rest, my little bird."

He nodded wearily and was thankful at the feeling of a damp cloth cleaning away the mess they had made even as he felt himself dropping off.


	19. Chapter 19

When John woke, he was just as heated, possibly worse, and he almost whimpered out for Philip before his mind quickly snapped back to the situation at hand. He reached out for Barsad, instead, and pushed himself up to sit quickly when he wasn't over him like he needed. There was the soft sound of sucking, and a deep throated groan that sounded strange, distorted.

He looked over and found Barsad on his knees, head in Bane's lap, lips stretched out along his thick shaft. Bane's fingers were twisted into his hair, pulling at it but not forcing him along. He swallowed heavily, knew it was just his stupid heat that was making him stare at them, at Bane and his powerful body, how wide Barsad had to stretch his mouth to take his cock into it. He was aching and empty inside, and his body knew exactly how well Bane would fill him. He whined softly and instincts led to him try to climb in Bane's lap to get a lick for himself, just a little taste, catching their attention.

He didn't expect to get gently rebuffed. Bane's hand was heavy and warm when it rested lightly on his forehead to keep him still. It made him freeze, remember himself, and his eyes flicked up, waiting for Bane to take his hazed overstep as permission to rut him. Instead, a calloused thumb brushed across his brow slowly as Bane seemed to contemplate him in silence.

Barsad pulled back with a slow slurp, his breathing heavy as he licked across his swollen lips. "Just a moment, my little bird. I'm sorry, I thought you would sleep longer."

It was reasonable. He had to tell himself that so he didn't feel miserable as he lay back down and curled up, tried not to watch, tried not to think about it. Bane hadn't tried anything even just now, had watched them fuck for what had to be ages and hadn't even jerked off to it. He might hate the guy, but even he could admit that he deserved what he was getting right now. That didn't make it any easier, though. It didn't make him able to stop stealing glances up at Bane, watching at his head tilted back and his eyes closed, how he growled when he reached his climax and Barsad swallowed around him, throat bobbing before he sat back and wiped his mouth.

Bane's fingers were carding through his hair for a moment and John felt a twist in his stomach at the tenderness in it, how Barsad closed his eyes and tilted his head, how Bane cupped his cheek and touched over his reddened lips. When he climbed back over him, John could see how he was still tired but determined to please. He leaned up to kiss him and went still in surprise, not having expected the intoxicating flavor that had been left behind by Bane. He opened his mouth eagerly for it and Barsad played with his tongue, let him taste before he pulled back and licked across his throat, his neck, over the bond mark.

That sent a coil of uncertainty through him, but Barsad's mouth was so good. Little nips and scrapes of his teeth, wet sucks and playful licks had him settling, letting him lick Bane's scent onto him while he took him again, filled him until they were both limp, curled up together with their arms around one another. He nodded, tired, when Barsad asked if it was getting better. It was. It wasn't over, but he could feel the heat slowly leaving him. His mouth was dry, and when he saw Bane silently hold out a canteen for him he hesitated, but was too thirsty to not take it, ignoring the pleased look from Barsad as he gulped down the cool water.

He was able to sleep for a few hours after, let Barsad feed him some food before they started again. Bane never left, he was a silent constant that filled Blake's lungs. At times when he rested, Barsad would go back to Bane, stroking him or sucking him again so that soon he was covered in his scent, rubbing it all over John's body whenever he touched him. It filled him with mixed emotions, his instincts reveling in being covered in strong alpha scent, licking at Barsad's fingertips and tasting the bitter seed that had leaked onto them, other times he tried to scoot back, thinking of Philip until Barsad soothed him, kissed him until he relaxed again.

His heat was finally breaking, and he lay out sprawled as much as he could in the small space, Barsad's head tucked under his chin as he played with his fingers, told him how well he did. It hurt a little to realize this was what he had wanted for so long, what his life could have been like, and that it would be over soon. Barsad seemed to sense his thoughts, how his grip on his fingers suddenly went tighter. He leaned up and whispered into his ear, his tone more possessive than any omega’s had a right to be.

"Fate was cruel to us once, my little bird. Do not think I will let you go so easily a second time."

He needed to argue that. Needed to remind Barsad that they both had mates and this was all they were going to get, but Philip seemed so far away right then, like a cloudy memory, while Barsad was there and wrapping an arm around him, stroking his hair while he slept.

____________________

Bane ran his hand down the slick skin of his mate's shoulder. He looked spent, though John's heat seemed to finally have left. It had taken the better span of two days, not something in their plans, but unavoidable. He had left orders with his brethren before the heat struck, let them believe it was Barsad that needed to be worked through his.

He had thought he might feel jealous watching, recalling well the hurt that had snaked around his heart when he first saw them kissing in the hall, but this, this had not fanned any flames of jealousy in him. This he found himself watching with curiosity. John had smelled tempting, and Barsad had looked beautiful with him. He could easily see himself enjoying such a show again, how his little lamb turned all of his playful aggression onto John while still encouraging him to participate. John did not seem to understand yet that Barsad clearly had no intentions of returning him to Stryver, and it was sure to lead to a battle, but for now they looked peaceful.

"Sleep," he urged Barsad who took his hand and kissed his palm.

"Thank you for staying, for helping." The gratitude in his voice was clear, and Bane spent a moment stroking over their bond mark, listening to Barsad sigh out contently while sleep took him.

He prepared while they rested. They could only stay here for a few more hours. Since the heat had broken, there was no reason things could not carry on as planned, and Bane knew that the police would indeed be lured into their trap as expected, the other steps in their plan having gone accordingly. A raid was the logical response to their next moves, and the men were busy packing up. Everything and everyone unneeded was cleared from the sewers, and the police would find nothing there but their final resting place when they arrived.

He went to prepare a group of men for the board meeting, and when he returned, Barsad had cleaned himself, dressed carefully, though Bane could tell he was not as well rested as he should be. He tugged his hair lightly in reprimand for his stubbornness, not at all surprised to see the barest hint of a smirk on his mate's lips.

"I am certainly well enough."

"You could stay behind, accompany your Robin to the warehouse," he suggested, even knowing that Barsad would not miss what was about to happen for anything short of perhaps death itself. He would never be content to rest away in their temporary new safe house when the hour of Gotham's reckoning was at hand, and the shove at his chest in annoyance, the curl of Barsad's upper lip into a sneer at the mere thought only proved that.

He chuckled softly and thumped his back, jolting him forward slightly in his weariness. "I assumed not, but what will you do with your Robin, then?"

Barsad looked over to the cot quickly, how John was curled up on it still, cleaned a bit, but clearly dead to the world. He sighed. "I hate to move him so soon."

Bane thought for a moment. "Let him rest. Have Kojo stay behind to move him when the last of them are leaving. He will have several more hours to sleep, then."

It was settled, and Barsad woke Blake long enough to let him know he was going out, not wishing to just leave. It got a sleepy whine and he was grabbed at, kissed, the last dredges of John's heat disorienting him, making him want to cling. Barsad promised that they would see one another again soon, and that seemed to settle him until he was sleeping again.

It was difficult to be able to see her for the first time in so long, but to not be visibly effected by how she had grown in his absence. She was stunning, her eyes bright with fear, but strong to the core, her role played to perfection. He let Barsad be the one to guide her, to grasp her arm and push her along as they walked past one of the few filled corridors of the sewers, knowing that though he wished it could be him touching her even for a short moment, he was needed to lead, to put on his own show as the explosives were set, as the hole was blasted and they were face to face with the instrument that would end Gotham's rot and misery.

  
When Talia was able to see the work completed, he gestured to Barsad. "Take them up to the surface. People of their status deserve to experience the next era of western civilization." He tilted his head as he spoke, watching them leave together.

____________________

Talia gasped as she tripped up the stairs, her heel catching and making her straggle behind. The others turned and glanced back, Mr. Fox looking especially concerned. Barsad waved for them to be led up while he waited for her to stand again.

  
When they rounded the corner, Talia glanced up at him, a glint of amusement in her eyes before she stood easily, kissing his cheek warmly. "I have missed you both; give that to Bane for me, as well."

  
"Of course, sister." He took the risk of wrapping his arms around her for a brief moment, breathing in her scent and running a hand through her hair before pulling back and taking her arm again. They kept their pace slow so they had a few moments together.

  
"Tell me about him."

  
He should have known she would find out before he could tell her. She didn't look displeased, though, and he felt a brief relief over that.

  
"He's everything I have mentioned before, but it has been locked away for him to survive."

  
"Gotham is suffocating in its control over people, over omegas," she acknowledged, her tone cold at the thought. "I hear that he is mated with a business associate of mine. I trust that that will not be a problem."

  
"He's not with him, now. With any luck, he'll never see that bastard aga—" They were cut off by a brief burst of static from his radio before Kojo's voice filtered through.

  
"Barsad, I'm afraid your little friend has run off."

  
He held back a curse, wanting to respond but knowing there was little time to do it, that he was needed by Bane's side in the stadium. Talia touched his fingers lightly.

  
"He will run back to his alpha, and if he is as you said he is, then he is smart enough to remain safe even while the world falls around him."

  
He nodded, knowing she was, of course, correct, but feeling uneasy all the same. The last thing he wanted was for Robin to be back with Stryver even temporarily, but Talia merely patted his arm before he led her up to join the others, securing them before joining Bane once more.


	20. Chapter 20

The pillow was nice and cool against his cheek when John groaned and rubbed against it. He still felt so tired, aching everywhere, but all of the burning inside was over. It left his throat dry and hoarse when he cleared it. He groped around for the bottle of water Philip usually left by the bedside table for him when he went to work after a heat.

He was confused when his hand smacked uselessly at empty air. When he cracked an eye open, it took a moment for reality to fill in the gaps in his mind. Instead of his mate's bed and the stark white walls of Philip's house, he was looking at concrete and, well, not much else. Things had been moved while he slept so that all that remained was the cot and a canteen set down carefully on top of his folded clothes.

Chugging down the cool water inside helped clear his head. Something was going on, and it had him on edge the moment he realized it. He could hear groups walking past where he was being kept, pretty decently sized ones by the sounds of the footsteps, the occasional scrape of something heavy being shifted. His legs shook slightly when he dressed slowly and stood, always hating how he wobbled the first little while after waking up from a heat.

There was no sense in trying to poke his head out yet, not when he felt like he was going to fall back over onto the cot. Instead, he let himself drop down onto the floor, going into some slow stretches, feeling the cramping ease out of him, the soreness start to slowly leave by the time he was rolling onto his stomach and doing his first push-up. Getting into his routine was helping to clear his head from the fog left in it, was helping him feel like he was reclaiming his body after days of heat and confusion.

He could still smell them both all over his skin, more so when he broke into a light sweat. It made him squirm. Barsad's didn't bother him. It didn't feel quite as unnatural as Bane's coating his body, rubbed onto him and settling under his skin where Philip's should be. He desperately needed a shower. He would take one as soon as he got home, which he needed to do. The idea made him feel twisted up. He had been heat-addled, but he hadn't missed what Barsad had whispered to him during it, about fate not keeping them apart again.

It made him realize that Barsad had no intention of letting him go back to Philip.

That presented a huge fucking problem because Philip was his mate. He could feel how his bond mark almost seemed to itch and he scratched over it absently as he stood finally, his legs steady again as he swung his arms around a little to get the blood flowing in them. Even if part of him wanted this, knew how wonderful Barsad had been last night, how it had been something he'd always wanted, it didn't matter. He was bonded, and that was all there was to it. This was just going to be a memory he'd keep with him, a secret he'd hide away.

He listened to the footsteps closely. There were fewer of them now, but it was still groups. He could hear the occasional conversation, nothing in English, though, nothing that could help him at the moment, and it was frustrating. The exercise had cleared his head, and even though his body was tired he felt restless, eager for action. He had to get out and get to Philip. The agreement had been honored, and that meant they had no right to keep him here anymore.

Which meant he was getting the fuck out of here.

It was easier said than done, though. He sat quietly and focused on the footsteps. It had a sort of rhythm to it, like people were leaving in set groups. It didn't take long to find a pattern in it, to cautiously peer out in between the groupings while he sipped water from the canteen, trying to appear casual.

"Ah, I see you're awake, now."

He swore under his breath and tilted his head, seeing Kojo leaning against the wall casually. He had to have been there the entire time, not saying a word, not moving, like a damn ninja.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"I'm afraid that it's going to have to wait. If you're up and can walk, then it's time to go." He stood and uncrossed his arms. He looked casual, but John could see he was anything but if he looked closer, ready to grab him if needed but giving him space.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I can't tell you," Kojo told him, smiling slightly. It was said without a patronizing tone, like if he could he really would tell him what was going on. It didn't exactly make him like the guy, but it was a little refreshing after being so used to being talked down to by alphas, like he couldn't understand what was going on when he usually had a better handle on it than most of the people in the room.

Except maybe he didn't have as much of a handle on it as Kojo, because he was being led off somewhere and he knew this was his best chance to get away. He limped along, keeping his pace slow. Kojo glanced back at him as they walked, stopped when he put his hand against the wall for a moment.

"Are you alright?"

He shook his head, glanced up from lowered lashes. "I just," he hesitated and spoke softly, "I'm really sore." There was no point in hiding the scent of Bane on his body. It was obvious, or at least it seemed obvious to onlookers what had happened the past few nights during his heat.

Kojo tilted his head and surprised him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Walk a little longer, and I will try to find you a painkiller."

"I'm not sure I can walk much longer."

Kojo's brow furrowed at that and he shouted out in another language; another mercenary was in the corridor with them much faster than Blake expected. They were speaking again, and John felt out of place when Kojo held a hand up to him, told him he would be back.

He waited a few minutes before he doubled over and groaned. The man he had been left with made a surprised noise and backed away, clearly not sure what the situation was, but not wanting any potential vomit on his shoes.

It was a good time to throw the canteen as his head as hard as he could and take off running.

Running was something he could do. It was something he kept up with every day, rain or shine, on the treadmill or around the blocks near their home. He was still in his dress shoes and that didn't make for the best traction, but he was fast, faster than the man chasing him and shouting. He also knew the tunnels better than they ever would have given him credit for. Now that he was more in the open, he recognized some markers. He was in an area he and Barsad had camped out in before when they were hiding out, which made sense since Barsad probably told them all about the sewers.

It also meant that he knew how to find the closest and best exit possible. In the back of his mind, he recalled that the old sewer opening was connected to a construction site. If it was still running, then there was someplace he could get help if needed, a phone at least, to get a hold of his mate.

He had to look crazy when he ran up to one of the trucks, in a disheveled suit and panting hard. There were two guys there, though, in construction outfits, and he put his hand against the truck, sucked in air greedily while he managed to get out that he needed a phone.

"Where the hell did you come from, kid?"

"It doesn't matter wher—" He ducked down quickly, hands biting into the gravel on the ground when one of them aimed a punch at him.

It had been a long time, a real long time, since he'd gotten into a real scuffle. His body remembered it, though, the knock-out brawls he and Barsad had gotten into in abandoned lots away from adult eyes when they were being bullied. This brought it all back in a flash. When a pair of arms wrapped around him, he threw his elbow out, feeling it slam into the man's stomach. He saw a glint of metal and grabbed for the other man's hands, pushing at his wrists and forcing the gun away from him.

He hadn't meant for it to aim for the other man. The crack of the bullet was startling. He felt the rebound of it as he pushed on the other man's hands, felt blood spray onto the side of his face as the arms wrapped around him went limp, the body sliding off of him. His muscles strained as he tried to keep the muzzle of the gun tipped away from him. He was tired, though, his body still worn out and it was getting harder. He grunted and shoved, gasping out when he used the last of his strength to give one final hard push.

The man's hands slipped, his fingers shoved against the trigger of the gun and John heard it ricochet off the thick metal siding of the truck. The man cried out in surprise, and John saw how his eyes widened before they closed, how he fell and wasn't going to get back up.

It made him feel a little numb to be staring down at those bodies. He didn't understand why they had been armed, why they had attacked. He looked around frantically, but the place seemed deserted beyond these men.

When he glanced at the truck's siding, he felt a sinking in his stomach. One of Daggett’s company labels was emblazoned on it. He was far from out of harm’s way if there was anyone else around, waiting for him to let his guard down. He dropped down and after a moment of hesitating picked up the gun. A search of the bodies got him a cell phone and he grabbed it up, felt the smooth case slip in his fingers from how they were shaking slightly.

Shitty service. Of course. He tried to get his call to go through, walking around the truck in a quick circle. His eye caught onto a large collection of barrels in the corner. Polyisobutylene, motor oil, not things he'd expect to find all mixed together in a nearly empty construction site. Polyisobutylene, it sounded familiar, it took him a few moments to remember it being mentioned at a particularly boring dinner party, mainly because it was the only interesting thing said by one of Daggett’s demolition overseers. It was a binding agent in C4, and it had no business being there.

He nearly dropped the phone when all of the puzzle pieces clicked into place. Daggett’s construction crews, the marked off map areas down in the sewers, the evacuation below… They were going to blow the sewers, and if John's sudden inkling was right, they weren't planning on it being empty at all down there when they did it.

He immediately thought of his own map, gridded out and sent anonymously to the police. He'd practically signed their death warrants if they followed his tip.


	21. Chapter 21

He swore when the call finally went through only for him to be put on hold. Who the fuck put 911 calls on hold? Which is probably not how he should have answered the phone when the operator finally picked up. It certainly didn't win him any favors with the guy.

"I'm sorry, sir, all of our available men are currently holding a training exercise. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"A training exercise?"

"Your emergency?"

"There's a bomb in the sewers," he shot out quickly, scanning the construction site. There was a car in the distance, much more drivable than a cement truck, and he hoped that one of the keys on the keyring he lifted would start it. He ran towards it, gritting his teeth when he heard the scoff on the other end of the line.

"You're wasting your time and mine, kid. Don't make me trace this call and have you arrested."

"What are you talking about?" he snapped back in aggravation as he climbed into the car, started it up. "This isn't a joke!"

"Alright, kid. I'll contact the man in charge down there and tell them to keep an eye out for any bombs while they run the training exercise."

His hands froze on the wheel. "The training exercise is in the sewers?"

"Don't play dumb, kid; almost every cop in the city is down there."

"Shit! Look you've got to pull them out of there. It's a trap!"

"Fuck off, kid."

He saw a haze of red when he heard the buzz of the connection being severed. His hand hurt after that, the glass from the phone sticking into his palm after he slammed it repeatedly into the dash. It was stupid, so stupid to have smashed it, but he had had enough, the anger in his bones had bubbled out because he was doing everything he fucking could but no one was listening.

Now, though, he had to get to the station or somewhere where they'd actually listen because there was no way any of this was a coincidence. He started the car and was thankful for a moment that, even though he'd never needed it before, he'd pushed to be taught how to drive, just in case.

Of course, his private instructor would have probably failed him on the spot now if he saw the way he peeled out into the open roads, tired squealing in protest. Good, maybe he'd actually get pulled over and could get some real help. Maybe if he told them the blood splattered and still wet against his cheek was from someone who had tried to kill him they'd actually listen.

He could only speed along for so long, though. Gotham traffic was at its worst, and honking did absolutely jack-shit. He might have been better off walking. He considered leaving the car in the middle of the streets to do just that.

A strange rumble shook the undercarriage of the car, he could feel it vibrating through his feet and it was the only warning he got before the explosions started. He screamed when the rear of the car caught the tail end of one of the blasts. There was a moment of feeling weightlessness, his heart racing as the car flipped through the air.

He was never, ever going to complain about wearing his seatbelt again. Nothing was broken, at least nothing felt broken. His chest hurt like hell, though, his already fucked-up rib pushed against violently by the belt locking him in place. He panicked slightly when the belt jammed, keeping him suspended in midair before he forced himself to calm down, rework it and shimmy out of the car.

There was dust everywhere in the streets, stunned faces, bodies. He wasn't a doctor, he didn't have any sort of first aid training and the people on the streets looked beyond anything he could hope to help with. Almost every officer in the city was down in those sewers, and it was his fault. The thought made him dizzy, or maybe he'd hit his head harder than he though. He felt like he was in a daze as he walked through wreckage. There were sirens going everywhere and they made him wince, sent a sharp throbbing through his head.

He had to find his mate. What if he had been somewhere in the blasts? He shook his head. Philip was ok, if he wasn't ok, he would have felt it, he would feel something through the mark, but Philip had to be worried about him. He had to get home, wait for him if he wasn't there.  He gave up the war with his stomach about four blocks from his house, hugging a streetlight as he lost what little food Barsad had managed to get into him over the past few days.

Barsad. He was part of this. He knew this was going to happen, had probably helped plan for it, and John had been in his cot the night before, holding onto him eagerly while he fucked him. He felt sick still, dizzy everywhere as thoughts pounded into his head, all smashed together and making no sense at all. He wasn't even sure how he found Philip's house, but he felt relief wash over him when he stumbled through the door, crashing down onto the couch so that he could finally just rest his eyes. Just for a minute.

"John!"

His eyes snapped open then he lowered them in relief. Philip was standing over the couch staring down at him. He had to look terrible and he knew it, especially when Philip was putting his hand to his cheek, not even worrying about touching the blood there.

"I'm ok," he choked out, "it's not as bad as it looks."

"Keep still," Philip ordered when he tried to sit up, inspecting him carefully. John hissed when he touched his chest before his hand pulled back."Nothing looks broken that wasn't before," he finally said, and John could hear the worry in his voice.

"We all knew I was a little cracked," John joked weakly, resting his eyes.

"Now is not the time for games, John. How did you get back?"

"How— I drove." The escape of the morning felt like it was a distant memory with all of the explosions, the car crash. "The car flipped."

"He could have a concussion. He's probably disoriented and not speaking any sense," another voice spoke by his side, and he opened his eyes again to see Ted there, his face pinched tight, like John was really being an obnoxious little shit right now. He almost smiled.

"Help him get cleaned up," Philip told him when it was clear John was ok. That hurt a bit until Philip's comment reached his ear as he left the living room. "He reeks."

Then he went red with humiliation. Bane's scent was still rubbed all over his body, Barsad's, too, though they were blended together and Philip wouldn't know, would just think he came home reeking of the alpha that had been fucking him nonstop for two days.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled weakly when Ted helped him sit up. He grit his teeth, holding back a grunt when it sent a stab of pain into his chest.

Ted spared him a glance as he made him wrap an arm around his shoulder, helped him make it to the bathroom. "You've got nothing to apologize for, kid."

The hot water helped. He was able to keep from experiencing the humiliation of Ted undressing him to help him clean up, but the man stood at the bathroom door with it open, anyway.

"You need to get to a doctor, kid. I don't know how that's going to happen, though, seeing as the world's gone to shit."

"It's ok," he slowly worked the grime off of his skin, "the worst the crash did was bang up my ribs. I'm just tired."

"I wasn't thinking about the crash. If you're not ok, I'll see what I can do," Ted's voice was quieter from the door, less gruff than John was used to. He furrowed his brow, not understanding.

"I'm really ok. I've been in scuffs before." He'd explained that he was attacked, not wanting to go into details, not thinking it was the best to admit he'd accidently caused the death of two men. With any luck, the world was too busy to pay attention to that right now, and even though it'd been shocking, he didn't exactly feel any remorse over it.

There was an awkward pause before Ted replied, "No, John, are you ok everywhere?"

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, and then he ducked under the water a little in mortification. Ted was worried that Bane had been merciless with him, had left him needing medical attention. "No. No, I'm fine," he promised quickly. "Thanks, though," he added softly after a minute, realizing that asking had probably been as far out of Ted's element as the man ever got.

He didn't get a response to it, which he was kind of glad for. A few minutes later he worked some shampoo through his hair and smirked slightly. "Hey Ted?"

"Yeah?"

"I bet the mall blew up, too."

He heard a short cough, something that was obviously to hide a chuckle. "If only."

____________________

"You should be very impressed that he managed an escape," Bane pointed out reasonably.

Barsad shot him a sour glance. "Robin is very clever, brave, but he is not a trained solider. I will personally snap the neck of whatever fool allowed it to happen."

"Even if it was Kojo?"

"Especially if it was Kojo." He sighed and shook his head. "I am sorry. We have many important things at hand."

Bane tilted his head lightly in acknowledgement. As much as he did not like Robin running back to Philip, he had to accept that he was strong, capable of taking care of himself even while the city burned around him. They would meet again soon enough. For now, though, it was time to gather the men, plan their next siege.

Their plans went as expected. The storming of Blackgate left them with a swarm of new followers. None were league material, clamoring after them only to enjoy the spoils of war, but they were good cannon fodder, men to keep the streets cleared away and to show the world how easily Gotham could be turned against itself.

He found himself sick of them rather quickly.

  
They were unruly, treating him with a disrespect that only a few bullets fixed. Then they no longer questioned why Barsad had been left with the task of commanding them. In fact, several of them weren't alive to question anything at all. He spat down onto the body of one of the well-stacked alphas that had made the mistake of trying to push him. He had broken his wrist first in one clean snap before he executed him neatly.

"You follow my lead, or you find yourself in a shallow grave. This army has no use for dead weight," he’d barked out roughly, holstering his weapon and feeling satisfied at the way those that earlier might have been tempted to question him, stare him down, had clearly lost their thoughts on the matter, keeping their gaze downwards.

"You will have cut their numbers in half by the end of the week," Bane mused to him quietly when he went to join him on the landing, looking out over the crowd of men gathered in the warehouse. Some were receiving orders, others carrying out the bodies.

"Good. Half as many mouths to feed. I will have the ones that last bury the ones that never stood a chance."

"So quick to cut them down?"

"We have more than enough, and food will be scarce even with supply trucks and rationing. Better to do it now and not waste the nutrients." He flicked his glance over to his mate and his lips twisted sourly. "And they will learn not to call me tiny."


	22. Chapter 22

Bane wisely withheld the chuckle that threatened to escape him, knowing his mate's mood would only sour more. It had been foul as of late to all but him, and it was not hard to guess the reason why. His lamb was worried over the lack of news about John. There had been little time to worry about him, and Barsad understood that better than any. Now, though, things were settling down. With everything falling into place, things would need less of a hands-on approach, leaving them with a measure of free time, and Bane had several thoughts on how they might spend it.

"Have another oversee for now." He walked away from the landing, feeling the slight smirk that would be on his mate's face, knowing his intentions all too well.

He was followed not long after, deeper into the warehouse into one of the small abandoned offices that they had claimed as a temporary room. He sat on the edge of a left behind desk, littered with documents and equipment, watching as Barsad unzipped his jacket and shrugged out of it. Bane reached for his mate's strong forearm and pulled him close, slowly unwinding his scarf for him, brushing over their claim mark and watching as his Barsad tilted his head, submitted beautifully and willingly to him, something he always cherished.

"You'll need to be quieter, lamb; the new recruits are sure to hear you."

He chuckled at the sharp, indignant look he received. His lover did not like to admit just how noisy he could be when he lost himself. Still, when he pushed Barsad onto the desk, shoved the other man's pants down and away, he took a moment to bunch up his mate’s scarf and force him to clamp it between his teeth. Barsad went rigid with indignation under him ever while accepting the gag, growling out like the little hellion Bane fondly knew him to be.

"Easy, lamb." He rubbed his hand briskly down his spine, feeling his lover grumble but his legs shifted apart, his hands reached to grip the edge of the desk. He looked forward to the wicked lashing he would receive later over this perceived slight. He pushed slicked fingers into his mate until the tension left him, until he was bucking back eagerly, low groans escaping the makeshift gag. He made his fingers twist and he let out an amused but apologetic sound when it caused Barsad to jerk, his knee banging into the desk sharply.

"Just relax. There is so much tension in you," he admonished when he pushed into him, felt how Barsad tried to work back onto him, a low, needy whine leaving his throat as he crushed him to the desk, pressed his mask to the back of his shoulder. Bane thrust into him roughly, knowing that when Barsad was most tense this was what he needed, to know that he had little other choice than to accept, to take the pleasure and firm pressure.

Bane felt when it clicked into he's mate's brain, when he went loose and so pliant against the cool metal of the desk, how his fingers curled into tight fists that Bane clasped over and held, how he keened softly behind the gag, how the steady pounding into him was making him lose sense of his surroundings, only able to focus on how he was filled, the hot ache of need in his body. He was always mesmerized by his mate's beauty when he lost himself, how much trust he put into Bane to let him take him to that point again and again.

His hand caught hold of Barsad's cock, hanging heavily between his legs, the tip brushing against the cool metal of the underside of the desk and making him hiss out before Bane warmed him with his hand, squeezed him, feeling how Barsad went still suddenly, how his hand smacked sharply against the desk and his back arched as he spilled into his stroking hand.

He was tempted, sorely tempted, to pull back out of his mate and spill onto his back, to rub his seed onto his ass, his thighs, mark him with his scent. Let his army know exactly who they were trying to talk down to and let them shake in fear with realization. He was well aware his mate was more than capable of handling himself, of putting any man or woman who faced him into line, but he could admit to himself that he had felt no small measure possessive anger when the foolish in their new army tried to oppose him.

Unfortunately, he understood the ramifications of the act when others thought of Barsad as a beta, that he would be seen as weaker, under his protection, not strong on his own. He rubbed his mask against the back of his mate's neck, amused with himself at just how much power his slender little mate held over him even as he laid out on the desk, panting and spent. He was more than content to take hold of his hips, to drive into him until his own climax rippled from him, filled his tired mate, making a content noise leave him even gagged.

He pulled him up from the desk and over to their bedding piled in the corner, laying him out before he worked the damp material out of his mouth and pressed a thumb over his lip. He chuckled at the small, lazy smile he received, the little lick to the pad of his thumb in response.

"I will pay you back for that," Barsad mumbled out roughly.

"Ah, but it kept you quiet, did it not? Or perhaps as quiet as you can manage when you are being filled by me."

Barsad closed his eyes. His smile twisted into something wicked. "Yes, brother," he agreed.

He enjoyed Barsad's even, relaxed breathing as he scratched slowly though his hair, against his scalp. He waited a moment to be certain he was not too tired before he spoke again.

"The warehouse is reaching the limits of its usefulness."

Barsad nodded in agreement. "It is good for training, but we will need to find housing, a more secure area to keep food and supplies, something that can be more easily guarded." He sat up quickly, his mind clearly completely shifting gears and beginning to strategize.

"There is sure to be looting soon, clearing out of the houses of the rich. They would be ideal to set up shop in. There would be enough room for key members of the league to house together, and many are built with security in mind," Barsad said thoughtfully.

"I have no doubt that you are right. I was thinking much the same myself; however, I do not think we will have to wait until looting begins."

Barsad made a questioning noise and Bane pulled playfully on his hair. "We do have in our employment a man who has the means to house us."

Barsad stilled then turned more to face him. "I would sooner kill him than take up in his household," he spat out.

"Ah, but we cannot, yet, not without fear for your Robin. We can, however, use it to our advantage that the man is indebted to us, that he clearly has no qualms with using his mate as a bargaining tool."

Barsad made a questioning noise and he pulled him closer, felt satisfied at the small, genuine smile that graced his lips as he told him of his thoughts.

____________________

John felt like he was in a bubble, safe for now, but trapped, watching as the world burned around him. He watched and re-watched the footage on the TV of Bane in the stadium, the bomb, of the tearing down of Blackgate and how the prisoners swarmed forward, armed and ready to terrorize the population.

Their house hadn't been looted yet. Philip had always believed in security over aesthetics. He'd also always paid the handful of bodyguards he kept on the grounds better than most, recognizing the importance of keeping those guarding his life interested in doing it for a long time. It meant that a couple of gunshots had persuaded those interested into looting other homes that were less guarded.

He wasn't stupid, though. It had only been a few days, and this couldn't last. The bubble was about to pop, and he felt helpless. Philip had ordered him to stay in their room, currently the most secure area. He was laid up in there now. His chest still hurt, but he was recovering with little else to do but watch the news, watch how, in each shot of Bane, Barsad was by his side, face stoic, how it had been him who had walked confidently across the bridge and threatened to blow them all to hell.

He supposed Barsad had warned him, but it didn't make him feel much better. John tried not to think about it. He was trying to help out how he could. He'd made a careful stock of their inventory, food, water, medication. Who knew how long this could last, how long the water would keep running, or if the electricity would go out. It wasn't exactly safe out there, not for anyone, but especially not for Philip who might not be famous but was recognizable as one of the 'oppressors' of Gotham. 

Right now, Philip was doing everything he could to find a way to get them out under the radar, using his phone whenever there was a clear signal. It was one of the few times John wasn't going to complain about some of the unsavory business partners Philip knew. Ted was with him most of the time. Philip had put him in charge of household security, something Ted had bluntly pointed out wasn't his job, but that he'd do it in exchange for room and board, recognizing how tough times were about to get and that there was safety in numbers.

"Can't say I blame them," Ted had remarked calmly. He was sitting at the bedroom window, alternating between watching out it and looking at the TV as it showed a family getting dragged out of their home, slaughtered. He ground out his cigarette on the window ledge, had even let John have a drag or two of it, clearly figuring it didn't matter much at this point. "You stomp on people for their whole lives then you give them power, power to hurt the people that hurt them, of course things are going to go to shit."

"That doesn't make it ok," John shot back, thinking of Barsad, the smug look while he walked across that bridge, got to tell the military, who would have ignored him without a second glance if they knew his dynamic, that he was the one in control even with all of their tanks and guns trained on him.

"Doesn't mean it was OK the way it was before, either. It just means it's what everyone was used to."

"If you're so in agreement with them, why aren't you out there?"

"Because I have a job to do, and I don't just drop it because there's a bunch of idiots stealing televisions that aren't even going to work soon enough. If this was a real revolution, maybe, but it's not, it's payback, it's a quick high until people realize they're just as trapped in here as all of the rich people. That's when everyone is really going to turn on one another." He spat out the rest of what he was saying and flicked off the TV, clearly disgusted. John didn't really feel like watching it anymore, anyway.

What he did feel like doing was getting out of bed, getting some fresh air, but he didn't see much chance in that happening. It was kind of nice, on the one hand, how protective Philip had been the past few days. After he was cleaned up and didn't smell like Bane anymore, he'd been by his side for the rest of the night, making sure he stayed lying down and resting. He still didn't feel ok about the deal Philip had made, but he was trying to understand it. Philip had known how dangerous Bane was and had done the only thing he could think of to keep them both safe.

  
There was a rumbling that vibrated through the bed, and Ted was standing quickly, hand going to his holster as he looked out the window, his face grim and making John's stomach sink.

"What is it?"

"Looks like our luck just ran out."


	23. Chapter 23

John stood up quickly and ducked past Ted even while he tried to keep him from the window. It was one of the huge tanks that he had seen with the mercenaries on TV. It looked a hell of a lot bigger than on the television, though, even from a distance. It didn't help that it was surrounded by a group of men all carrying heavier artillery than any of the security in the house. He watched as the top of the tank opened and his breathing quickened when he saw Barsad climb out, followed by Bane who descended from the top of the tank with ease.

"Get into the closet, kid," Ted said tensely, "don't come out."

"No, no fucking way. They're not—" He stopped, because despite everything, he could admit to himself that he was probably the safest person in the house when it came to Bane, purely because Barsad was there. That didn't mean he trusted Bane, just because he hadn't touched him. He was still evil. He was still doing all of this, and he'd led Barsad into it, too, but he didn't feel threatened right now, not as much as he would if a group of roving looters were walking towards the front door.

Of course, he had kind of run away and sort of accidently killed two of the men working for them.

There was just no way of explaining any of that to Ted.

They were interrupted by the sharp sound of feedback then Barsad's voice sounded out loudly over a bullhorn. "Citizen Philip J. Stryver, your home has been chosen as headquarters for the liberation of Gotham City. As a loyal follower of the liberation, we are certain you are honored to be chosen. Come out to discuss the matter."

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," he swore out, staring at the window before he turned and ran out of the bedroom, ignoring Ted shouting at him to get back in there.

Philip was at the door, his jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed when he saw John on the stairs.

"Back upstairs!"

"But—"

"I won't tell you again, John," he gave him a sharp look before he straightened himself and opened the front door.

John told himself it was worth the risk of punishment to creep down to the window, to crack it open to listen.

____________________

Barsad watched, barely holding back his disgust as Stryver stepped out of his home. He would at least credit the man that it was not as decadent as many of the houses on the block. It was large, yes, but there were no fancy fountains or ornate fixtures. It was made of brick, clean, with thick hedges to enclose it and a strong gate to keep others out. It had been opened for them, and now he stood with Bane on the stone path leading to the door.

"What is the meaning of this?" Stryver asked. His tone was harsh, but it was not the condescension of his former boss. It had a measure of what might have been considered authority if the man had not been addressing Bane.

Now it was just laughable.

Bane tilted his head. His thumbs were hooked into the collar of his coat as he pretended to consider Stryver. In reality, there was no need. There was nothing here to negotiate. It was simply Bane informing Stryver of the new situation he found himself in.

"Your," Bane paused to consider his words, "loyalty to the cause has been beneficial. In return, you have been allowed to remain a part of it despite your previous lifestyle. Now, it is time to show how dedicated you are to it."

Stryver's shoulders were tense, all of him was rigid. He looked out of element completely, still dressed in a sharp suit even. “I don't understand. There're plenty of other places. There's no reason to question where my loyalties lie. I—" he lowered his voice slightly, "I gave you John."

"Ah, yes, John." Bane's tone was fond, and Barsad felt satisfied at how Stryver's jaw clenched at that, the twitch of his brow. He hoped he had seen John when he came home, covered in Bane's scent, in the scent of an alpha actually worthy of him. "John was very pleasant, indeed. I look forward to his company again."

He looked at Stryver intently for a moment before he brought his hand down from his jacket, touching the man's shoulder lightly. If Stryver had been rigid before, now he was as still as death.

"You have bought your protection before with your mate's body. I trust that you will have no qualms about doing the same once more."

"You want his heat again?" Stryver asked quietly, never taking his eyes off of Bane's hand.

"I wish his body, as I please, while we enjoy the hospitality of your home."

"You can't expect me to just agree to that. He's my mate."

"And yet, you were so willing to give his heat." Bane hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "You are, of course, welcome to refuse our offer of protection. You may leave with your mate and find a new home among the other citizens of Gotham."

"I wouldn't last out there. They would tear me apart the second they found out who I was."

Barsad glanced towards the window, saw the slightest of movements and felt satisfied. Good, let his Robin see that his treacherous mate was willing to sell him easily enough, that there was no reason to hold onto their bond.

"Then it appears that you have an easy decision to make," Barsad told him, smiling cruelly.

He watched as Stryver's eyes flashed, as he swallowed slightly before nodding his head. "It seems that I am left with little choice."

Bane's arm squeezed down onto his shoulder, nothing that spoke of camaraderie as it often did, this was a casual putting of Stryver into his place. He nodded at the man before letting go, before walking into their new home. Barsad strode past with him, followed by others. No one new, only their most trusted would be welcome in their new headquarters, those who knew the truth of their plans. He heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs, but Robin was too quick for him to see even a glimpse of him before he heard the sound of a door shutting tightly.

____________________

Ted grabbed onto his shoulder and hauled him onto the bed, looking pissed. "I told you not to go down there, kid." He gave his shoulder a rough shake when he didn't respond. "You ok?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine," he got out numbly. He was ok. He took a shaky breath and tried not to feel it twisting up in his chest.  
  
He could hear so many footsteps downstairs, soldiers filing into Philip's house—fuck it, it was their house, now, and his mate had, as far as he knew, traded him off to Bane for full access whenever he wanted it, heat or not. It was one thing during heat, when his body needed it, when Philip had known that he'd take whatever was offered when he was in deep enough, but this, this wasn't once and done, this wasn't when he needed it, this was supposedly whenever Bane felt like it.

He drew his legs up onto the bed and hugged them, ignoring the pain to his ribs. He reminded himself that Bane didn't want him. That wouldn't have changed, would it? But everything else had changed, so what if that was different now, too? What if Bane had been playing nice, and now he was his, and Barsad couldn't do anything, either? What if they were both trapped now in this city, in this house with Bane?

John barely heard the door open, Philip walking into the room, Ted being sent out. He felt his hand on his shoulder suddenly, and choked back a panicked sound as he explained ‘the situation.’

"This isn't what I want, John, but it needs to be done to keep us safe," he finished off, his voice tense.

His head hurt and he was fighting with himself, feeling an old anger rising up, something he'd learned to never, ever, use on Philip. He stamped it down hard, shaking his head. "Don't. Don't make me do this, please."

"John, there isn't a choice in the matter."

"We could go," he stood up quickly, "we could just get the fuck out of here. I know how to blend in. I could show you how," he finished desperately, willing Philip to agree.

"John," Philip held his hand up impatiently, "be reasonable. Do you think I enjoy doing any of this?"

"No, but you were pretty damn quick to offer it the first time! Why should I believe that you care this time?"

"That was different." It was clear Philips patience was wearing thin by how he stood up from the bed and didn't look at him. "Omegas don't care who they're breeding with in heat."

John flinched at that, clenching his fists. "I CARE, Philip, I care a whole fucking lot who I 'breed' with, heat or not," he snapped out sharply, knowing he was never supposed to talk to his mate like that, not able to care at the moment before he stormed out of the bedroom with nowhere to go.

He thought maybe he'd see Barsad when he walked out into the hall or down into the living room, but that didn't happen. It was probably good, because he would have probably gotten shot by one of mercenaries for what he was going to do to him next time he saw him. He clenched his jaw at the thought. He needed to cool down. He was feeling the pressure build, and if he didn't let off some steam soon, he was going to really explode. It had been a long time, a really long time since an actual blow out, and he wasn't going to let that happen.

He ended up on the roof. Philip hated when he went up there, it wasn't exactly meant for sitting, but there was an old hatch in the attic he'd discovered long ago that led up to the flat surface. He figured it was about as private as he was going to get. He watched as the men below swarmed the house, looking like insects as they secured different areas, carried in supplies, set people up to stand guard. He had the brief realization that he definitely shouldn't stick his head out in case someone saw him and thought he was an intruder.

There was a low creak from the hatch opening again and he turned, saw a familiar crop of brown hair and scruff poking up onto the roof, investigating. He looked surprised to see him.

"Robin—"

It was really, really satisfying to slam the hatch shut on his hand. He heard the startled yelp of pain, the muffled sound of a crash from Barsad toppling off of the ladder. When there was silence after, he felt a sudden sinking in his stomach, worried that Barsad might have actually hurt himself from the fall. He hesitated before he opened the hatch back up slowly, looking down. Barsad was sitting on the floor, nursing his hand, eyes flicking up to meet his briefly before he looked back down.

"You're angry."

He glared down at him, sorry he'd even bothered to check. "Of course I'm fucking angry."

John hadn't expected Barsad to look so pleased about it. He looked up at him with a wicked smirk. "Good. I missed that."

"Fuck you," he spat out and slammed the hatch shut again.


	24. Chapter 24

John ignored it when it was open again, shifted away from Barsad when he sat down beside him. The sun was starting to set and the change in the sky was casting a strange hue over them as they watched without speaking. He tried to keep his breathing calm, but he knew it was coming out in quick bursts through his nose. He couldn't relax, he nearly snarled when Barsad touched his hand lightly, jerking his own away and shoving at him.

"Don't touch me! Don't you fucking dare act like you have any right to do that. What are you doing, Barsad? What the hell have you done? Does it feel good? To be threatening millions of innocent lives?"

Barsad's eyes were calm, so steady it was infuriating. He never got angry like he did, didn't blow up in the same way. When they were together, it had always been him cooling John down. Now he only shook his head, looking out into the empty streets.

"Innocent is a strong word to use for the people of Gotham, John. Our work is for the betterment of humanity." His voice went softer as he settled down onto the roof more. "Everything has a cost."

"Don't act like threatening everyone with a bomb is making the world a better place." He felt a sharp stinging at his eyes and swiped at them. "How can you be doing this?"

"I know it's hard to understand—"

"Stop," he cut him off. "Don't you dare treat me like I'm too stupid to understand things, too. I'm sick of it."

He was surprised to hear Barsad laugh quietly before he answered, "I was only going to saythat it would take some time to help you understand. I am not so good at explaining things, not as good as my brothers and sisters."

John shook his head at that. There was no 'explaining' this. This was terrorism, this was knocking down a society just so Bane could rule it how he saw fit. Thinking of the man sent a wave if unease through him, recalling the reason for his anger. He scraped his nails against the tile of the roof, picked at a piece of loose tar before he spoke softly, keeping his voice even.

"Why does Bane want me? He didn't touch me last time, so why did he tell Philip he wants me now?"

"You misunderstand, Robin. My mate had three reasons for making his arrangement with Stryver." He help up three slender fingers, ticking them off as he spoke. "One, he knows I care for you and he wishes you under his protection. Two, to show you that your mate is more interested in saving himself than in your own well-being." He stopped and held up his hand when John glared, started to protest.

"And three," he daringly leaned in, the stubble of his beard bristling across John’s cheek, "Bane will enjoy the same arrangement as before, with you laid out on our bed, looking so lovely while I touch you."

He shuddered, unable to resist the way his head tilted slightly, a soft whine escaping his throat when Barsad's beard scraped down it lightly, when he nuzzled against his neck and kissed there before he pulled back, his eyes far too smug at the way he'd managed to speed up John's breathing. John shook it off quickly.

"What if I say no?"

Barsad tilted his head. "Do you want to say no?"

"I should."

But they both knew that wasn't a no, and after a long moment, some hesitation, John was taking hold of Barsad's chin, stroking his thumb across his jaw before he dragged him into a kiss. It was bittersweet, full of anger, confusion, and more than a little desperation as Barsad carded through his hair, murmured reassuringly between breaths, between the scrape of his teeth over his bottom lip, the following soothing flick of his tongue.

"It will be alright, my little bird, just please, please trust me?"

"You really expect me to be able to just trust you? Do you think I haven't been watching the news? You want to 'blow us all to hell'."

He could feel Barsad's lips curling into a smirk and he growled, bit at them in reprimand, listening to his breathing cut off into a low moan.

"We'll explain things to you in time. I promise. Bane didn't hurt you during your heat, did he? You know any of the alphas in Gotham would have. They would have used it as an excuse to say you wanted it, and they would have taken you."

John pulled back at that, looked away, felt Barsad cup his cheek instead and pull him back, making him look at him.

"No. No, he didn't," he agreed quietly.

"And he won't. No one coming in here is going to." He leaned in to give a brief peck on the cheek. "These are our most trusted brothers. Everyone here knows about me, about Bane, and they will treat you with the respect you deserve."

John dropped back a bit and looked back at the setting sun, feeling more than overwhelmed. He shouldn't trust Barsad. He shouldn't just want to wrap him up into his arms and believe him when he says that it's going to be ok. He shouldn't be so damn furious with Philip when he was just trying to keep them safe, and he sure as hell shouldn't be feeling heated at the idea that he might be able to be with Barsad again soon, even if it is with Bane in the room.

The next couple of days passed in a strange sort of blur. He watched as rooms were cleared out, organized, as the entire living room was turned into a meeting area, as roughly a dozen men all having donned the same red scarves as Barsad milled about the house, cleaning guns, stockpiling gear, setting up guards.

Mostly, John just tried to stay out of the way. That was pretty hard, though, when his own bedroom had been confiscated and he'd been put into a room which now housed bunks. Philip hadn't exactly been thrilled, but then John didn't see much of Philip at the moment. They were avoiding each other, too. John ended up spending a lot of time on the roof, reading through some of the books he'd snagged up and hidden before they got taken for kindling or something. He'd dragged a blanket up there, too, for when it got a bit chillier, stuffed it all into a garbage bag when he left in case it rained.

Barsad found him half a week in, curled up asleep under the stars, holding onto his worn copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles in his sleep.

"Little bird, you're going to roll right off of the roof," he admonished gently, picking up the book and thumbing through it. "You still read this?"

"It's my favorite," he mumbled irritably and sat up, taking it back and tucking it away. "What do you want?"

"I have been wondering where you were hiding yourself. Have you been spending all of your time up here?" He knelt down. He was in his gear still, his vest even, and John could smell gun oil on his hand when he stroked over his cheek. "Why don't you come to bed?"

"This is just as good as those bunks." He'd been avoiding them all he could, hated the idea of trying to fall asleep with all of those mercenaries surrounding him, even with Philip pressed close on the small bed. Philip was strong, but not in the physical sense, and he didn't feel protected by him there. He'd only slunk in once or twice now, when he worried it might rain, and he'd only been able to slip into an exhausted fitful rest.

"No, Robin," he kissed his forehead, smoothed back a bit of mussed hair, "why don't you come to our bed?"

He sat up straighter, wide awake at that, uncertain. There hadn't been any demands of him yet, and he had settled, let himself believe Barsad when he said Bane wasn't going to use him. He couldn't just trust everything Barsad did. There was still so much going wrong with him right in the thick of it, but this John was trusting in for the sake of his sanity if nothing else.

"I'm tired," he hedged warily.

"Then come sleep. I would love to hold you."

That sounded wonderful, so wonderful that he felt a flash of guilt over it, thinking of his mate sleeping alone in their bunk. Philip wasn't one for that anyway, he reminded himself, tried to assuage his guilt. He'd more than once been calmly peeled off of Philip on waking in the morning with some mild scolding that he was going to make him later.

Barsad, though, John could remember hours of just holding onto one another, touching, kissing. All of those hazy memories of the past felt like they grew a little brighter each time he saw Barsad, and guilt be damned, he was tired, it was getting chilly, and he would really, really like to be fucking held. He nodded finally and Barsad helped him tuck away his things, let him tuck his head against his shoulder as they walked down the empty hall and into John's old bedroom, taken over by Bane and Barsad.

Bane was sitting on the bed already, slowly unworking his heavy armored vest. John wondered if the two had been out together, what they had been up to.

"Good evening, Robin."

"Don't call me that," he shot out gruffly, too sleepy to be properly pissed, but furrowing his brow when he could hear the dry chuckle from Barsad. He let him push him onto the bed, and after a quick glance at Bane, John realized how pointless modesty was when he'd already seen everything, so he stripped his shirt off, lay back onto the cool sheets. He watched while Barsad pulled off his vest, set down various bits of weaponry that had been tucked away in little pockets.

John wasn't sure how he ended up in the middle, especially when he'd tried damn hard to be on the end, nowhere near Bane. Somehow it had happened, though, after both of them had finished stripping off their gear, cleaned up a little and changed into softer pants for sleeping. Barsad patted his hip, encouraged him onto his side. He felt perfect when Barsad slotted behind him, curling an arm around his waist and patting his belly.

The bed dipped slightly in front of him and John tensed, felt Bane lay out next to them. His scent was something that his body recognized, now, something it saw as familiar, warm, and he didn't like that at all, was irritated that after one heat his body had decided that Bane wasn't an enemy.

They began to talk softly over him. It was strange since beyond the television he'd barely heard Bane talk. He tried to grasp onto what they were saying, things about where Barsad would stake out next, goings on at what Bane called "the new court," but he was tired and soon their voices were nothing but a soothing, garbled hum that lulled him to sleep.


	25. Chapter 25

He woke the next morning with Bane's arm over him, wrapping around him to cover Barsad. They'd moved together in their sleep, and now he was pressed up between both of them, skin warmed by theirs, the morning light creeping through the window and shining into his eyes enough that he couldn't sleep anymore even though he was more comfortable than he'd like to admit. He took the opportunity to look at Bane, really look, knowing he couldn't be faulted for staring if the man was asleep.

It was a strange thought, to take in all of him, all of the thick muscle, brute force under his skin, and to instead find himself focusing on other things, skin riddled with scars, a thick brace around his wrist, the belt he kept on his back was probably another brace if he kept it on while sleeping, his mask. He could feel faint puffs of filtered air coming from it, and it smelled like a chemical of some sort, reminded him of a brief stint he'd spent in the hospital having his appendix taken out. For all of the strength Bane had, John couldn't shake the realization that he almost seemed... fragile.

He found his fingers drifting up towards it curiously. It had to be for pain of some sort, why else would Bane wear it even to bed? His fingers had almost touched down onto the strange coils when they were caught up. He jumped, his eyes widening as Bane's opened and looked at him contemplatively with his own strange grey-blue ones.

He backpedaled quickly. "I'm— I was just—"

"Curious?" Bane finished for him, a pale eyebrow raised slightly. He found himself nodding, relieved when he didn't look angry.

Bane nodded slowly in return. John didn't expect him to slowly bring his hand back up, to guide his fingertips to the coils so that he could explore them.

They were cool to the touch, almost unnaturally. He slid his fingertip across the grate of it before he realized that might be too far and retracted his hand. Bane sat up slowly after he was finished.

"Is it— It's for pain, right?" John couldn't help but ask curiously.

Bane turned slightly at that and inclined his head. "You are as observant as Barsad said."

"What happened?"

Bane stood with a low grunt. "It is not something that you are ready to hear."

John scowled at that. "I'm getting tired of people telling me I won't understand yet. When exactly am I going to understand?"

"When you have learned, not through us telling you what you should believe but through observing the world, Gotham, for what it truly is."

"Oh my _God_. It is way too early for riddles," he grumbled and started to turn around so he could burrow into Barsad, steal some of his sleeping warmth. He stopped in surprise when Bane's hand went to his shoulder.

"It is not being done to frustrate you. It is simply something you must learn for yourself. We can, however, offer guidance."

He wanted to shrug him off, he didn't need any fucking 'guidance' from Bane, but he had too many questions. It felt like he didn't understand anything that was going on, anymore. How Barsad could be helping to terrorize Gotham, how he could be willingly mated to Bane as far as he could see. Maybe if he let Bane 'guide' him, then he could finally fucking understand something, understand what had changed in Barsad.

"Why?" he finally asked.

Bane was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again, softly. "Because you are loved by the one I love, and that makes you as a brother to me." He squeezed his shoulder. John was too stunned to answer him before Bane went on, "Do not spend your time hiding away, you will learn nothing there."

He didn't know what to say to that; what did someone say to that? He listened to Bane pull on his armor and begin to leave the room, pausing a moment. "Let him sleep. He works himself tirelessly."

Alone in the room, he ended up settled into Barsad more, dozing for a while. He'd listen to Bane and not wake him, but only because he agreed with his assessment. Barsad seemed worn out, like if left alone he wouldn't be waking any time soon. It was nice to lie against him for a while, feel his arms around him, but he had never been good at staying in one place for hours at a time, especially with his stomach rumbling slightly.

There were a couple of snacks stored up in the bag on the roof, some things he'd snatched from the kitchen before it was taken over, some fruit, a bag of mixed nuts. He'd mostly been living off of that, not wanting to find out what the new food situation was really, not wanting to interact with any of Bane's men or to go through the indignity of being turned out of the kitchen empty handed.

He slipped out of the bed, relieved to find that his clothing was still tucked away in a dresser drawer and that the water was at least passably warm when he scrubbed clean. He walked through the hall quickly, planning on passing through the living area and going up to the roof for a snack. Fuck Bane, he wasn't hiding, he was surviving, and he really didn't have anything to learn from him.

"Ah, there you are! We wondered if Barsad's little friend had run off."

He stopped, bristling. "I'm not fucking little," he snapped back before thinking about if it was a good idea to do so at Kojo, but the man only tipped his head back with a deep laugh from where he sat on the couch, a few men and women sitting near him.

"Alright, Barsad's average-sized friend, come play cards with us."

"You want me to play cards?"

"Of course," Kojo patted the seat beside him.

So he spent the morning playing cards and snacking on the bag of dried fruit Kojo tossed to him. He wasn't used to interacting with alphas beyond Philip and his associates who would look at him like he was a charming thing, but not talk to him, not like Kojo was, and the other alphas and betas with him, like he was on their level, slapping his back when he got a good hand or bemoaning their fortune for their bad ones. He almost didn't noticed Barsad coming up to join them, crouching down to pick up a date and chew it slowly.

"You should have woken me."

"Bane told me not to."

That earned a round of chuckles and Barsad's eyes narrowing, a brief flash of embarrassment before he turned and left with his weapon.

That was how the mornings started to go. Barsad would coax him into joining their bed, he would sleep between them, and he would wake up in the morning and play cards with whoever happened to be off duty.

He couldn't just keep avoiding his mate, though, and he started to spend the afternoons with him. Philip seemed... lost. John couldn't blame him, he rarely spent time at the house, and now it wasn't like it was his anymore. He spent a lot of time watching the news when the electricity was on. John would watch with him. Sometimes there would be shots of Barsad, of Bane, which was hard to reconcile with the two men he ended up settled warmly between each night.

They didn't talk about the arrangement. They didn't talk about how John wasn't going to sleep next to him anymore. Philip never quite looked him in the eyes, and John never quite wanted him to.

"Come out with me, Robin." Barsad's arms wrapped around him from behind. He still spent the evenings on the roof, just for fresh air, some alone time, and to keep from feeling so trapped. It was where Barsad found him each night before he brought him in to bed.

"Out? Yeah that doesn't sound like a great idea," he snorted, even if the idea of actually getting out for the first time in weeks made his skin itch.

"I will be scouting again tomorrow, mostly on the rooftops, but you could keep me company."

He leaned into his arms, let his head drop back onto his shoulder as they watched the stars for a moment. "I'll think about it," he finally said and let Barsad take him to bed.

Bane beat them to the room this time, already undressed. He watched as Barsad dropped down into his lap. The first time he'd seen Bane rub Barsad's back out he’d been wary over how Barsad hissed in pain. Now he just snorted with laughter over the insults and harsh words muttered at Bane who returned the growled out barbs good-naturedly, pressed harder until Barsad went limp against him.

"Gonna fall asleep in his arms again?" he asked when he flopped down onto the bed beside them. There was always a small moment when he saw Bane, his nose adjusting to his scent, where he went tight, tense. It seemed to end faster each time he saw him now, so that it was little more than a small twinge as he lay down beside them, gone the moment Barsad reached out to squeeze his thigh.

"That was one time," he said, his words cut off when Bane pressed down onto a sore spot. He dug his fingers into his thigh and his eyes lowered.

John yelped, smacking at his hand. "Hey, knock it off; I'm not the one getting massaged, here!"

"You could be," Barsad remarked, sighing and settling back when Bane's kneading turned into a gentle rubbing down his back, "he has amazing hands."

"I don't think that's such a great idea," he disagreed, shaking his head. It wasn't like he was sore, anyway. Instead, Barsad's hand found his way to his hair, and Bane asked about his day. It was always Bane who asked, and from someone else it might sound casual, just something to say, but the way he inquired made it sound important, like even though he was kind of fucking running a revolution of sorts, he cared about the minor details of John's day inside of the house. It shouldn't have made him feel sort of, well, special.

"It was ok. I ended up helping Shaun out in the kitchen." It had been a pleasant surprise to find out that he wasn't barred from the kitchen at all, that he was expected to go there for the same sort of rationing everyone else got. The rationing itself surprised him. These were Bane's men. They could have their pick of supplies in the city with a bit of brute force applied, but they instead ate modestly. They were the ones with the power, but they weren't exploiting it like he thought people in their position would be.

"And how was that?"

John snorted. "Terrible. I don't know how to cook at all."

Barsad chuckled and rolled out of Bane's lap, climbing onto him. "I wondered why the oatmeal tasted burned."

"Jackass," he muttered, but leaned up to kiss him. His eyes flicked to Bane after, they always did no matter how much he tried to stop it from happening. He was never angry, though. Now his hand was at the back of Barsad's neck, giving it a light squeeze before it when to John's shoulder, giving him a squeeze, as well. It had taken a little getting used to, to understand that Bane in private was much different than the Bane seen on the television. There were no grand speeches in the bedroom; Bane was often the most quiet. He preferred to let his actions speak for him.


	26. Chapter 26

Barsad lay out on top of him and kissed his neck, mouthing over his bond mark. The boldness of the move always sent a shiver through him, that Barsad clearly didn't give a single fuck if John was bonded, that he was going to lick his scent all over him anyway, not let him go. It was getting harder to remember why that was such a bad thing. Sometimes he hunched his shoulder to turn Barsad's attention elsewhere, sometimes he let him suck at the mark a bit, bite at it like he thought he could break it, make it disappear if he just put enough of his scent onto him, wanted it enough.

Now he just slid his fingers into Barsad's hair, relaxed back onto the bed and let Barsad nose up to his jaw, murmur softly as he nipped the corner of it. "Think you might like a little something tonight, little bird?"

John hesitated at that. It still felt wrong to be doing stuff with Barsad, even if it was part of the ‘arrangement’ Bane had made, sort of. Barsad had offered once or twice, slid a hand down his thigh and offered to suck him off, and God, that had been tempting. He'd sucked him during his heat, but that was a hazy memory. It'd been a really fucking long time since he'd had a blowjob beyond that, nearly a decade, in fact. Philip didn't care for giving them, and as Barsad's hand crept down over the crotch of his pants he had a hard time trying to think of what would be so terrible about getting one.

“I might,” he finally whispered, tugging at Barsad’s hair until he was kissing him again. He could feel the smirk against his lips, how it only widened when Barsad dragged his fingers slowly along the outline of his cock and he groaned, arching under his touch.

“Good.” Barsad’s nimble fingers worked open his pants, had them tugged past his ankles and off at an impressive speed as he slid down his body. His beard scraped over his belly lightly when he rubbed his cheek there, pulled a soft moan from him. His hands swept up his cock slowly, sending a pleasuring tingling through the rest of his body. His breath caught in his throat when a heated swipe of Barsad’s tongue dragged over the tip of his dick.

He had always loved when Barsad sucked him. He could remember holding onto his hair tightly when they were young and losing himself in minutes to the sounds of wet slurps and messy suction. John swore softly when Barsad pursed his lips around him, letting his tongue flutter over the crown of him in a way that had him trying to buck up into his mouth.

“W-wait,” he pushed at his head, shivered at the hungry eyes that flicked up to look at him questioningly, “I want to, too.” He pushed at his shoulders, getting a heavily lidded look before Barsad reached down to shuck off his own pants and then carefully turned. His knees bracketed John’s head and his cock hung down well within reach for him to take hold of it, to feel it hardening quickly in his hand when he licked down it slowly.

John guided him between his lips, opening his mouth and took Barsad in a little more happily than he’d like to admit. He liked doing this, the taste, the heavy, full feeling in his mouth, how it could pull such good noises from his partners, even Philip, when he let him. Now it was Barsad, though, sounding so good, and the wet suction around his own cock felt so amazing that his whine vibrated softly against Barsad’s, making the other man groan.

It quickly became a game of giving and taking, breathy moans when he grabbed Barsad’s hips and tugged demandingly. He could feel the hesitation before he dug his nails into him, felt him give in and slide into his throat. The angling made it easier to take him in, to feel perfect and full.

It only took a few moments of Barsad sliding deep, carefully rocking into his straining throat before he was pulling back. John gasped for air, hearing shallow pants past the blood rushing through his ears as he felt Barsad coming, pulsing out onto his lips. He laughed huskily. “Lightweight.”

He winced at the sharp nip of teeth, right at the thin skin against his hipbone. “Fucker!”

Barsad eased the sting with his tongue, ran it against the base of his cock even while he held him still, sucking a wet kiss there before murmuring that it had been a while. John had a slight flash of realization at that, at Bane’s mask. It didn’t seem like it came off often or maybe at all. He wondered how Bane had even bonded with Barsad to begin with.

The thought left his brain quickly, fizzled out by the hot pull of pleasure on his cock when Barsad began to tease mercilessly, when he wrapped his hand tightly around the base of him and held him back until he was keeping him at his edge. He rolled his tongue around his glans, gathering up the sticky fluid dripping out with broad sweeps of his tongue.

“B-Barsad,” John choked on his name, trying to buck up for more touch, to break the hold on his cock or the hand on his hip, “come on!”

Hot breath puffed over him, making his nerves light up. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, biting into it to stifle an obscene moan. He felt a warm hand at his jaw suddenly, startling him as Bane thumbed at his bottom lip, gently tugging it from between his teeth. He stared up with wide eyes, unsure what Bane would do. He relaxed when Bane only pressed the pad of his thumb to his lips in a fleeting caress before withdrawing it.

“Barsad is working hard for your cries of passion. It seems cruel to withhold them.”

“I don’t underst—” he was cut off by his own gasp. His back arched at a particularly clever twist of Barsad’s tongue. Bane’s hand stayed at his jaw, holding but never too tightly. His thumb lightly pulled at his lower lip whenever he tried to subdue a cry by worrying it between his teeth. There was the light brush of Bane’s thumb across his mouth each time until his lips were tingling, until his entire body felt like it was winding up tight. He just needed to come, might have babbled out something embarrassing of the like to Barsad, chanting it out again and again until the words were getting all twisted up on his tongue.

The cry that left him when Barsad finally let him reach his peak was mortifyingly loud, strangled sounding as Bane pressed his thumb into his cheek, encouraged his mouth to stay open, his head to tilt back while fire raced through him and he shot into Barsad’s waiting mouth.

His sides were heaving and he sagged, weakly cursing out Barsad at his satisfied hum of approval. He started to sit up sluggishly so he could wobble his way to the shower, but he was pressed down easily. Barsad teased against his ear, as he held onto him, that he liked him smelling like sex and them. John snorted, but let him rub through his damp hair until he was asleep between them.

____________________

Bane listened until Robin’s breathing turned steady, exchanging a look with his mate. Barsad looked satisfied, rubbed Robin’s side for a moment longer until he climbed over onto him, locking over the bond mark and sending heat through him.

“Did you enjoy watching us?” he asked, as though he could not already feel the answer pressed stiffly to his thigh.

“I did, and I am sure most of the household enjoyed hearing the noises you wrung from him, as well.”

That had been the idea, after all, part of distancing the bond between the two. It was no accident that Stryver had been placed in the closest room of bunks available, that Barsad had encouraged Robin to sleep with his scent, their scent, rubbed onto him. In the morning, Barsad would insist that there was no time for a shower if they were to make his rounds in time. Bane found he could admit to himself that the thought of Robin out and marked by them in such a way had grown to be an appealing thought. He smiled privately at the way his mate’s eyes lit up when he shared it.

“Good. I like it, as well,” Barsad breathed out contently, reaching down to slip his hand into Bane’s pants, curled his hand around him, bringing him off slowly with leisurely pulls and strokes of his hand. He rubbed the thick mess onto Robin’s skin before they slept, Barsad with an arm hooked contently around them both.

____________________

“Oh you are an _asshole_.” Robin made a face in the morning, swiping his hand against the flaking mess of dried semen on his belly. “Was that really fucking necessary?”

Barsad only grinned. He couldn’t help but notice that Robin’s previously more controlled tongue was loosening around them, more of the rough ‘uncultured street urchin’ slipping out. Good. He shoved a pear into his little bird’s mouth and laughed outright at the indignant, garbled protest.

“You have to smell like him, not me, if you are going out into the city as an omega. None will question you, then.”

Robin glanced towards the bathroom where Bane was cleaning up privately. “So, what, Gotham is going to think I’m Bane’s fucking omega?” His lips twisted in disdain at the idea. Barsad only kissed him briefly. He still had much to learn, and arguing only brought out Robin’s stubborn streak. Instead, he tossed him the same fatigues worn by their men, smiling privately when he helped him knot the red scarf around his neck.

He watched the furtive glances Robin gave as they took to the streets. The ugliness of Gotham had been brought into plain view now, like an infection that had finally bloated and burst. They passed more than one neglected body in the street, and Barsad saw how Robin went rigid at the sight of each cold face. He knew this smack of reality would bring out the anger in him and in his misunderstanding he would try to direct it at Bane, at himself. It was Barsad’s duty to guide that anger to where it truly belonged.

After a quick march through the streets, he guided Robin up an escape ladder to one of the posted outlooks. He set up his rifle, casting his scope out onto one of the predicted problem areas that had been listed in the morning reports. Robin was silent while he watched, picking at his fingernails as he sat on the edge of the roof, looking out into the quiet chaos.

He finally spoke gruffly, “If you thought that it was somehow a good idea to bring me out here, to show me all of what you’ve fucking done, then you were wrong.”

Barsad didn’t have to take his eyes off of the street to know that Robin could not bring himself to look at him. He carefully followed the movements of the slowly growing crowd below, letting long moments pass in silence before he answered.

“Did you see where I put the binoculars in my pack?”

Robin paused in confusion. “Yeah?”

“Good, come watch with me.”

Robin’s confusion quickly turned to annoyance when he realized Barsad was not going to tell him more until he complied, until he was looking down at the streets with him.

“You see this as our doing, Robin,” he said finally when Robin was kneeling down at the buildings edge near him, “but the truth of it is that the corruption, the rot… it has always been here. We grew up in it. We were forced apart by it. All the league has done is make this foul city show its true colors.”

Robin scoffed. “You make it sound like it’s fucking hell on earth here.”

“No. It’s worse,” Barsad said, “because it hides itself, its true face, but now it can hide no longer. Watch.”

“What am I watching?”

“Your civilized Gothamites.”


	27. Chapter 27

There was a rumble heard then, even from the rooftops. Among the throng of people below, there was a flurry of movement, the sudden shine through the scope, concealed weapons being brandished as the convoy of supply trucks began to make their way through the now crowded streets.

“Jesus Christ,” Robin swore, seeing how the crowd suddenly swelled, sprang to life, and swarmed the trucks. Lead pipes smashed through windshields, knives slashed at tires, and dirty hands pushed on the sides of the trucks as one, the force of them making the trucks start to sway. Guards began to spill out of the backs of the trucks; some were grabbed onto, pulled into the streets. He could see others taking aim with their guns.

Barsad gave them little need to use them. He focused, his finger squeezing the trigger with ease. A man reaching through the obliterated windshield and towards the driver jerked forward suddenly, the back of his skull splattering across the broken glass and spraying the driver. It did not take much after that, once the corpse fell into the streets and people began to run for cover. He could hear Robin shouting at him, only a distant buzz in his ears as he took down several more targets in the mob, watched as the rest finally dispersed. There was a faint crackling from the radio clipped to his belt. He pulled back from his scope and listened to the message relayed. Two guards injured but no causalities on their side.

Robin shoved at him roughly then, his face red with anger. “What was that?”

“Keeping order, little bird. Should I have left them to attack the trucks?”

“You can’t—they’re just scared.” He sat down on the roof heavily, rubbing his forehead. “They’re just scared and hungry people.”

“With careful rationing, there is enough food in those trucks to feed all of Gotham. They would rather attack them, try to take it all for themselves and leave nothing for the rest. They would spill blood for their own greed. I will spill theirs in return to stop it.”

“There has to be another way to stop them.”

“That is always the problem, Robin; ” he placed a hand on his shoulder anticipating the tightness he felt there, “everyone would like to wait, to find another way, to not do what needs to be done. If it were up to the world, we would wait and wait until the entire population had burned one another to ash. What we do now is harsh, I will never disagree with that, but it is a necessary evil, to save the world from itself.”

He knew that it was a lot for Robin to take in. He knew their path was hard to understand. He would do everything he could to help him, though, to let him be able to see why their cruelty was needed. Robin shrugged away from his touch, refused to meet his eyes after they descended down into the now empty streets below.

“We should bury them or something,” Robin finally said quietly, his eyes focused on the bodies left behind.

Barsad nearly scoffed, but Robin’s face was so disquieted that he found himself agreeing if only to ease him. “I will need your help piling them together.”

He was privately proud that Robin did not shy from the task even though he had clearly not been in the same situations as him, where disposing of bodies, brother and enemy alike, was a familiar experience. Together, it was not long work to stack them up, to siphon some gas from an abandoned car and set the pile ablaze. Robin stared into it, watching the flames lick away at the flesh and cloth left behind. He said nothing, but when Barsad touched his wrist he didn’t pull away, let him hold it lightly before they moved on.

Robin was exposed to Gotham quickly enough by going out with him on his rounds. Barsad had not been sure he would agree again after the first outing, but if Barsad had important lessons to teach Robin, then Robin clearly also had his own things he was trying to prove. He argued vehemently and often over the state of things.

“Not everyone is like that,” he said when Barsad led a group out to break up a street war that was threatening to cause trouble.

“You could try helping people, instead,” he said when he slipped the apple from his lunch out of his pocket and placed it into the hands of a hungry looking boy.

“Fear can make people do terrible things,” he pointed out softly when they were jumped later, the same small boy in the crowd as Barsad put a bullet through their leader, saw in the corner of his eye Robin’s fist connecting with another, disarming them. His heart didn’t sound like it shared his sentiment, though his eyes looked hurt.

“Jesus, she was so young,” his voice wavered when they found the dirt-streaked body of a child in an alley. Barsad gently covered her eyes, and they went home early that day. There they argued more. He knew that Robin was beginning to see, to understand, and instead of acceptance it was turning first to frustration, rage, to shoving at him in the bedroom, beating a fist against his chest. “Why do you keep showing me these things? Why are you even here? If this city is so terrible, why not just destroy it now!”

“Because that in itself is not enough, Robin.” Bane took hold of his wrists and guided them down to his sides so that Barsad could wrap around him and soothe him quietly. “You are seeing, but you are not understanding yet.”

“There’s nothing TO understand. You’re still the ones doing this.”

“We are only the catalysts,” Bane told him, voice calm as he led them to the bed. Robin let him rub his shoulders lightly, his eyes closed in exhaustion, his emotions and the long days out weathering Gotham wearing him down. When Barsad helped him peel off his boots, he clicked his tongue in disapproval, seeing the blisters forming on the backs of his heels, the sides of his feet.

“You should have told me of these.”

“What difference does it make?” Robin’s tone was dejected, lost-sounding. Barsad rubbed his ankle gently, knowing it would not last. His little bird was far too fiery to have any more than a short period of self-loathing.

“You will stay home tomorrow, rest them.” He shook his head at Robin’s protest. “You can go out with me again the following day.” As much as Robin hated to see what was out there, Barsad knew he was compelled to, now, hungry for the truth in a way that he couldn’t control. He kissed his forehead, listening to him sigh then his breathing pick up slightly when Bane’s fingers carded through his hair. Little touches, Barsad had encouraged Bane to try them, had smiled when Bane seemed uncertain at the idea.

_“You have wonderful hands. When he relaxes with you, he will enjoy them.”_

_Bane’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I do not know how to touch him. I only know how to touch you, lamb.”_

_“Touch him as you do me,” he encouraged, taking Bane’s large hands and guiding them to his face, placing a kiss against the rough palms._

_“He likes the same sort of touch?”_

_“That isn’t what I mean. Touch him in the same way you do me, with reverence, with wonder, with desire.”_

_“Is that how I touch you then, lamb?” Bane asked with a low chuckle, and Barsad smirked, climbing into his lap,_

_“It is, and I would like to feel it now.”_

Barsad doubted Robin knew that when Bane brushed his thumb over the bond scar on his neck he now ticked his head slightly to the side, trying to submit to Bane, to his warm touch. It was a good sign. Robin was detaching, had not mentioned his mate in days. Barsad did not think he had even seen the other man in a week or so. He had been keeping Robin busy, out all day on patrols, touching him and joining their bodies together each night. The bond between Stryver and Robin had to be weakening, to be growing shaky.

Barsad wondered if Robin had yet realized that when Bane pressed his thumb to his lips, as he was doing now, that it was a more tender kiss than he likely ever received from his mate. Perhaps some part of him did, judging by how his lips opened slightly, the soft sigh that left him when the pad of Bane’s thumb caressed across the line of his mouth. Whether Robin realized it or not, he was becoming open, receptive for Bane. When they slept that night, Robin ended up pressed to Bane’s chest, half on top of his strong frame, nestled into his warmth. Barsad was more than pleased to drape himself across from him.

____________________

For the first time in a while, John found himself waking up alone in the bed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes blearily. When it sank in, he kind of hated it, wished he could hear the familiar sounds of Bane cleaning up in the bathroom first, the smell of gun oil from Barsad carefully cleaning his rifle each morning before going out with him. His feet did hurt, though. He was a runner, kept in shape, but marching for hours had been doing a number on his feet even with the thick, padded socks Barsad had made sure he had for the boots he was wearing.

He rubbed his feet gingerly before standing, managing only a slight wince, and the carpeting helped. He wasn’t going to lie around in bed. He’d been keeping busy with Barsad, doing his rounds with him, keeping lookout. He might not agree with the liberation, but he did believe in keeping Barsad safe, and it was strange to realize that Barsad counted on him doing just that while they were out, to one day notice that all of the men went out in pairs, partners, for safety, but Barsad went out with only him. He wasn’t trained like any of them, but Barsad trusted him enough to keep him safe even without it.

His pace was a little wobbly when he made his way down to the living area, sitting heavily on the couch and ignoring the amused glances he received from the men already seated and playing cards.

“Just shut up and deal me in.”

His words were met with laughter, and he felt the edges of a smile tug at his lips. He’d marched with most of the men and women here now before he split off with Barsad to take to the rooftops and alleyways. Now Olivia smacked his shoulder and dealt him out some cards, Kojo saw the raw blistering on his ankle and slid his foot out of the way on the coffee table so John could prop his own up.

“What a soft little bird you are,” he teased, earning a scowl from John. Kojo had overheard Barsad talking to him, and the name had been shared among the brethren holed up in the house, much to John’s mortification and annoyance.

“Fuck off.”

“John!”

John jumped slightly, startled by Philip’s stern, sudden voice over his shoulder, and a flash of guilt running through him. He hadn’t even seen his mate in days. He’d been meaning to spend time with him, but after long days out with Barsad, the lure of the bed pretty much won over his good intentions.

“Sorry,” he shrank down into the couch a little, knowing his language had gotten a bit looser lately, knowing Barsad didn’t care about it, that Bane had only lightly tugged on his hair once or twice after a particularly colorful curse.

“Where have you been, and what are you doing out _here_?”The last word was said with a special level of disdain to his tone that he used for particularly distasteful matters. John understood; Philip didn’t know that the alphas and betas had invited him to play cards with him, that there wasn’t some sort of malicious intent. He was just trying to keep him out of trouble.

“I was just playing cards.” He stood up slowly, holding back a soft hiss of pain at the pressure on his feet.

“Playing,” Philip repeated dryly, “with them. Do you think this is some sort of _game_ , John?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, no of course not, I was just—”

“We invited Bane’s little bird to play with us, as we do every morning he is free,” Kojo said casually, his thumb sliding across the edge of his cards. There was no threat in his tone, but John saw Philip reacting to it anyway, his shoulders tensing and John felt heat rising to his own cheeks at the nickname.

“Little bird? Why are they calling you that?” Philip’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

John opened his mouth, holding back a cringe when Kojo spoke again.

“Because he sings so beautifully for Bane.”


	28. Chapter 28

Kojo’s comment had Philip’s lips pressing into a tight line before he took hold of John’s arm and led him away from the group, into an empty hall where Philip made him face him.

“I don’t want you around those men, John. It’s bad enough what’s going on, you don’t always have to go looking for trouble.”

“I’m not—”

“What if something happened? If one of them decided you were coming onto them?”

John bristled at the accusation. He was taking care of himself. He had been out on the streets in Gotham every day with Barsad and the other men, and they’d always treated him right. He hated that Philip thought he couldn’t take care of himself. It was cruel, but he couldn’t help but think to himself for a moment that he was taking better care of himself than Philip could right now. He fit into the house, into the new way of things, in ways Philip couldn’t even hope to.

“What? Afraid Bane will get pissed if there’s someone else who gets to have a go at me?” He said it flippantly, and, like most things, regretted it the second it left his mouth.

The sound of Philip’s hand slapping his cheek was sharp in the quiet hall. The slap stung, made his head snap back and smack into the wall. He had been out of line. He knew he’d been out of line and he should definitely apologize. It was wrong, the angry feeling in the back of his head, the push from it that told him that Philip didn’t have a right to hit him, that if he told Barsad, hell, if he told Bane, that he just knew that they would put a stop to it, that maybe Philip would be the one getting punished.

He shoved those thoughts aside. They were dangerous things, the sorts of ones he hadn’t had in a long, long time, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with them. Philip had taught him better than that.

“I’m sorry,” he finally forced out quietly, rubbing his hand against his cheek.

Philip lowered his hand. “I don’t want you playing out there, anymore. Is that understood?”

He nodded his head stiffly in response. “Understood.”

Philip nodded in approval. “Good; come spend time with me.”

He should want to do that. He hadn’t in a while, and before it had been a rare thing in itself with Philip always being so busy with work. Now, though, his cheek hurt and he found that sitting around and watching TV wasn’t holding his attention, not when the news was just playing out all of the stuff he already knew, all of the stuff he’d already seen on the street itself. He sat for a while, anyway, picked up a book and perused it a little instead while Philip watched. He couldn’t help but notice that Philip was still dressed in his suits, but they weren’t looking as pressed. There wasn’t exactly dry cleaning available at the moment and John thought maybe he should consider wearing something else, but it wasn’t his place to mention it. Philip probably just felt more comfortable wearing them.

He put in his time with Philip, feeling a little bad that he couldn’t help but think of it like that at the moment, and then he went for a walk through the halls, testing the blisters on his feet cautiously. He felt well enough, and he ended up outside in the yard, watching a couple of guards changing positions as he sank his toes into the grass. It was getting unruly, no one mowing it now, and it tickled between his toes. He was surprised when he realized Ted was the new guard on duty and went over to him.

“Hey! I thought you were a goner.”

Ted looked over and snorted softly before he went back to looking out past the gates. “No such luck for you.”

He debated on asking if he was ok, mostly because he thought maybe Ted would strangle him a little for even asking, but he hadn’t seen him in a while…

“You ok?”

That earned him barely more than a backwards glance. “I’m ok, kid.”

“Aren’t you going to ask if I’m ok?”

That got him another snort. “You’re ok.”

“Oh, you can just tell, huh?”

“No, but the walls aren’t exactly the thickest in your room.”

He swore at that, felt red creeping up the back of his neck. “I uh—”

He stopped when Ted waved a hand at him dismissively. “I don’t care. Sounds like you’re better off where you’re at, anyway.”

John opened his mouth to argue that, to point out that Philip was maybe technically Ted’s boss still, sorta, until he noticed the red scarf tied around Ted’s forearm. “I thought you didn’t believe in any of this.”

Ted followed his eyes. His face was stoic, though, looking back out to his watch. “I said I didn’t agree with what was going out on the streets. I think we both know that it’s a lot bigger than that.”

It was, but he didn’t know how Ted could just be willing to take up with the men here, or that they would even take him in. As far as he could tell, the men on the streets he’d seen joining rank hadn’t been wearing red. It was something reserved for certain people. John had thought it was only for those original members, but apparently he was wrong. He was going to ask Barsad about it.

He spent some time needling at Ted, trying to filch a smoke off of him just to piss him off a little, unable to help laughing a bit when Ted finally ordered him away from his post. When he was back inside, he went to help in the kitchen a little, making a face at Olivia when she saw him walk into it and told him to try and not burn everything this time.

It only seemed right to take Philip a meal, to sit down and eat with him. Lately he’d been grabbing dinner after patrol with Barsad and scarfing it down before bed. Philip seemed surprised to see him twice in the day, took the bowl with a small nod of his head. It was more TV. John wondered if Philip did anything else, or if he just sat there all day and willed the world to turn back to the way he knew it before, into a place where he had control over his life again.

“We could watch something else,” he suggested quietly, shoveling in a mouthful of rice. “There’s some movies stacked up, something to take your mind off of things.”

“This is important, John.”

“I know, it’s just, well, it’s the same thing all day, isn’t it?”

“I suppose you would know,” Philip said quietly, his hand gripped tightly onto his fork and John swallowed his mouthful uncertainly, watching him. “Do you think I don’t know where you’ve been spending your time during the day?”

John shrank back in the chair when Philip turned away from the TV, putting his full attention on him. “I’ve seen you on the news, John. I’ve seen you in the streets.”

He cleared his throat, setting down his bowl, “Bane—”

“This isn’t about Bane,” Philip cut him off sharply, “the man has no say in what goes on outside of that bedroom. He’s putting you in danger.”

“I’m not in danger,” he argued, “I’m with Barsad.” He stopped at the look Philip leveled at him.

“I don’t care who you’re with. I don’t want you out there. I don’t want you near any of Bane’s men.”

“Oh, just Bane, then? You just want me fucking Bane?” He slammed his bowl down onto the table, feeling anger boiling through him. “It’s ok as long as I’m being used, but if I’m started to actually feel ok, get along, then you care?”

He knew the smack was coming then, and it stung, still, but it made his blood boil. He was doing what Philip wanted. He was in Bane’s bed every night for him, and now he was going to be angry with him for what, going out? Not hiding? Not letting himself be miserable? He rubbed his cheek and he glared. He never glared at Philip, but he wasn’t going to apologize and he wasn’t going to stop going out with Barsad.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Philip stood when he did, starting to walk towards the door to block it when John walked towards it.

“Bane wanted me in his room, ready for him, do you really want me to tell him why I was late?” He spat out the lie, felt a twisted rush inside at how Philip backed away from the door immediately. He’d apologize later, he knew he would regret acting like such an asshole, but right now it felt good to stalk out into the hall, to make his way to the bedroom and shut the door loudly behind him.  He leaned against the door and let his head thunk back softly onto the wood as he sighed.

The hiss of Bane’s mask certainly wasn’t expected. He didn’t figure he’d be in the bedroom so early, but then he always seemed to be there by the time he came back from patrols with Barsad. He opened his eyes and saw him sitting on the floor, not far from him, his eyes closed and his legs crossed. He started to mumble out an apology, to open the door back up, but Bane opened his eyes slowly, looked over at him.

“It is your room, as well, Robin.”

He nodded a little at that and let go of the handle; he’d long ago moved his books down from the roof and he needed something to calm him down. He ended up laying out on the bed with his favorite, not sure when his eyes had started to lower, the pages blurring, but he opened them, looked up quickly when Bane’s hand touched his arm, having finished whatever meditation he’d been involved in.

“You are taking up the entire bed,” he pointed out, his tone amused, and John realized that, yeah, he’d kind of starfished out onto the bed. He mumbled out an apology and curled onto his side, dragging the book with him, sneaking a glance at Bane as he sat beside him, the bed dipping down from his weight. He tried to read, but he could feel Bane’s eyes on him. It was distracting and almost a relief when Bane finally just slid his hand into his hair, rubbing his fingers in circles along his scalp, breaking up the tension headache inside of his skull that was threatening to make everything worse.

“You’re upset.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t his ‘how was your day?’ which was serious, but this was more so, this sounded concerned, like Bane wanted to know what was wrong, traces of protectiveness curling around the edges of his tone and making John’s stomach warm. He couldn’t explain it, could never pinpoint the exact moment in time when his mind stop seeing a monster when it looked at Bane and instead saw a man, a man who was doing things John didn’t agree with, one who he argued with and was never hit for it, an alpha who treated him with a quiet respect.

He shrugged a little, shaking off the thoughts. Bane was still Bane, still leading this stupid revolution. Just because he was starting to see things he didn’t want to think about, just because he was starting to feel a sense of disgust when they went into certain parts of Gotham, saw what the people were doing, it didn’t mean he was friends with Bane, or anything other than that, either. They shared a room, they, well, it was strange, but they shared Barsad, and John could admit he was grateful for that, but that was it.

Still, his fingers were welcome to keep rubbing his scalp, against his temples. The ache there was starting to ease out, and the steady hiss of Bane’s mask was an almost hypnotic lull. He shook his head so he wouldn’t drop off, feeling Bane’s fingers travel down to his neck.

“Do your feet still pain you?”

“A little,” he mumbled out, grunting when Bane’s thumb dug into a tight spot on his neck. “Blisters are ok; they’re just sore, mostly. Not exactly a soldier.”

Bane chuckled softly. “I would be proud to have you as one of my men. Even untrained, Barsad knows he has nothing to fear with you by his side.”


	29. Chapter 29

His stomach warmed at Bane’s compliment and he stretched his toes out carefully, sat up and rubbed over his heels, working the sore muscle there to try and ease it to be ready to go back out tomorrow, because he was definitely going back out tomorrow. He’d apologize to Philip, but he wasn’t going to not go out. He’d go stir-crazy inside, and he had come to cherish the time he was able to be alone with Barsad, out on the rooftops and looking out over the world.

“We used to fight together,” he said thoughtfully, trying to dredge up the older memories, “nothing huge, just schoolyard brawls, a couple of stints in back alleys where no one really knew who started it but everyone was determined to finish it. I guess that’s why he thinks I can do it now.”

“You are hard to picture as a brawler.”

“Hey, fuck you.” He shot him a look. “I’m not weak.”

“And when did I ever say such a thing? I merely mean that your frame seems better suited for agility.”

“To run away.”

“No, to outmaneuver, much like Barsad. If you asked him, I am certain that he would teach you to fight using your own strengths.”

“We talked about it,” John agreed, pausing when Bane’s fingers touched against his heel in a quiet offer. He breathed in slowly and thought about how much better Barsad always looked after Bane rubbed him before he nodded quietly. Bane’s thumbs dug into his heel better than he could, and it made him hiss and grip onto the bedding at first, but he lay back and let him work. He was careful not to touch the blisters, and soon John found himself squirming slightly on the bed. Bane’s hands were warm, rough with calluses but gentle in manner. When he swore at him for pushing a sore spot between his toes, it earned a low laugh.

“You are both very much alike, at times.”

“Guess it’s because we grew up together.”

Bane’s hands went from digging to simply rubbing, encouraging circulation. “It is more than mere upbringing. You share a spirit, something Gotham has been able to break from neither of you. I admire it.”

He looked at him in surprise at that, at the idea of Bane, a powerful alpha, admiring something about him. It seemed so backwards, but he’d seen so much of him with Barsad now, all of the unspoken gestures, the touches that weren’t always gentle but were always done with a sort of devotion that made him feel strange to witness them.

When Bane set his foot down, John sat up slowly onto his knees. Bane looked at him questioningly and he swallowed, voice soft as he asked, “Do you really love him?”

“Have I not said it before?”

“People lie,” John said softly. “They say things they don’t mean. I just…” He trailed off, feeling stupid.

“You need to hear it directly,” Bane said, understanding. “Yes, Robin, I love my mate. He is something I thought I would never have, and I cherish him.”

“Doesn’t it bother you when we sleep together?” he blurted, he couldn’t help it. It had been bothering him for so long. He didn’t expect Bane to laugh, the sound escaping the mask in a rough chuckle.

“I might point out that you were there first.”

John snorted, unable to help laughing a little. “Yeah, I know, but you’re bonded, now.”

“And you would be bonded if fate had not been cruel.”

He nodded in agreement at that. Sometimes it still hurt, the memories of how sure they had both been that they would be together like that forever. He scratched over the mark on his neck absently as Bane lowered himself onto the bed with a low groan, taking a few moments to settle. John thought about how he sometimes saw Barsad returning the favor of Bane rubbing his back.

“Does it hurt? I could probably try rubbing it, if you want,” he offered hesitantly.

Bane was quiet for a moment. “That would be helpful.”

“Sure.” It wasn’t a big deal. He ended up on top of Bane half of the time they slept, anyway, or squished in between him and Barsad. It wasn’t like Bane didn’t touch him now. It wasn’t a big deal at all that he was willing to initiate it this time, to climb onto his thighs and straddle him there.

“Should the brace come off?”

Bane reached under and unfastened it, and John helped to slide it off then realized he wasn’t sure exactly how hard he should be touching there. He let his fingertips rest against an old, thick scar. “Just tell me if it’s too hard.”

He pressed down, felt the knots of muscle there, hard as stone even as he started to dig into them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Bane’s back, leaned in closer when he put more pressure on him, digging the heels of his hands into his shoulders. There was so much scarring, so much power that clearly came with an ugly price. When he was closer, he could catch hints of Bane’s scent. He knew it well, now. Had tried not to think that he was often covered in it when he first started spending the nights in their bed, now he couldn’t help but think of how good it was. Bane kept clean, very clean, so there only his own musk hidden under bitter medicinal scents.

His nose twitched slightly and he leaned in more, surprising himself when he felt the warm brush of Bane’s skin against his lips, when he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with Bane’s strong alpha scent, felt his blood getting hotter from it. Bane made a questioning noise under him and John held his shoulders, trying to keep him still. He didn’t want to have to actually think about what he was doing when he lowered himself down slowly so his chest was pressed flushed to Bane’s back, his nose tucked into the crook of his neck as he huffed happily.

“Robin,” Bane paused, but he didn’t move, “are you… scenting me?”

That was ridiculous. He wasn’t scenting, he was just _smelling._ He didn’t even scent Philip much, just during heats when Philip was willing to let him tuck into him and breathe his pheromones in deeply. He definitely wasn’t trying to take in all of Bane’s smell, commit it to memory and feel it wrapping up around him, nor was he trying to rub his own back onto his neck when his face rubbed there. That was what mates did, the overly-affectionate ones, anyway, and it sure as hell wasn’t what he was doing there.

“NO,” he muttered out defensively, nearly growling when Bane barely made a sound but he could _feel_ a low rumble of amusement vibrate through him. “I’m _not._ ”

He felt Bane reach back, his hand felt nice patting his hip, made him squirm a little to settle in closer. He was just comfortable is all, and tired, and Bane was warm, smelled really good, and wasn’t making him move.

____________________

Bane felt warm breath ghosting over the skin on his neck, a content sigh; Robin seemed quite settled onto his spot, and if he was anything like Barsad, then he would be quite grumpy about being moved from it. Robin’s offer to help with his back has been an unexpected, thoughtful gesture, and the warm weight draped over him was certainly not a burden.

Robin was exploring cautiously. His lips were soft against his neck, the back of his shoulder. They weren’t quite kisses but they were close, soft brushes against his warming skin. Bane found that his blood was heating up quickly, spurred on when Robin licked his lips, when they rubbed slickly across his skin and he felt the barest hint of teeth scraping across a scar.

He held back a groan at the intimate attention, not wanting to spook him when he was being so bold, but when Robin shifted on top of him more he could feel a firmness digging into the small of his back, heard a soft ‘ah’ escaping Robin’s mouth, brushing across the wet left on his neck. Perhaps he did not have to worry about spooking him, after all.

He lifted his hips slowly, mindful of his brace being gone, but Robin’s fingers had done well to temporarily ease the ache from his back. His bolder action was rewarded with a shaky gasp from Robin, whose hands suddenly were at his sides, grasping on tightly as his body moved with him, grinding down against his back, his legs settling more on either side of his hips.

“I’m going to turn now,” Bane warned him before he shifted under Robin’s hold, helping him to resettle onto his chest when the actions and jostling earned him quite a few disgruntled noises. Now, though, he could cup Robin’s chin, bring it up from where it had settled onto his chest, he could look into his dark eyes and see a desire in them, uncertain, a spark of interest, but it was there and beginning to burn. His mate would surely run him clean through if he did not encourage it.

A stroke across Robin’s jaw had him lowering his eyes, laying his head back down and sniffing again while Bane swept his fingers across his throat, his neck, over the bite scar, never missing an opportunity to cover it with his scent. It was strange and a little thrilling to have Robin nosing across his chest eagerly, nuzzling a bit. Barsad sometimes got into such moods and he had always found it to be quite precious, not that he would ever use such a word to describe his surly mate, who, like Robin had, often denied that he was trying to curl up and breathe in as much of Bane as possible, until he was aching, pulling at Bane’s arms and biting the mark on his chest, demanding to be taken until he was nearly screaming from it.

Such a thing would not work for Robin, though; he required a more delicate touch, something that would not make him feel forced, would teach him to seek out his own pleasure with Bane willing to aid him in it. Bane watched as his eyes drifted shut with a lovely flutter of dark eyelashes. He ran his hands down Robin’s back, slowly, firmly, skimming down the material of his shirt and feeling his slender frame beneath it. The touch was met with a sigh, as was the rubbing down his back, the squeezing of his thighs, tight enough that it made him squirm. His breathing changed at that, puffed out of his nose quickly when the slide of his hips moved him so that their cocks were pressed together, separated only by a layer of clothing.

Bane did not force, he encouraged, squeezed Robin’s hips several more times, earning a squirm each time, a shift of his hips, until his mouth opened and he licked over his lips, sighing out and rocking forward purposefully. It only took a few hesitant slides before Robin was groaning out, moving faster. The friction against his own cock was rough, wonderful.

When Robin bit his lip and whined, he pet down his hips, lifted his own to meet them. The pleasured noise that left his throat was enthralling, the desperate way he began to jerk his hips as he was close to tipping over made him growl, made him grip his hips tightly and pull them together more, as though if he was rough enough he would be able to feel Robin though their clothing.

Robin went still at the growl and Bane thought perhaps it had been a mistake, but he shivered then, his head butting into Bane’s chest, his fingers scratching down Bane’s sides as his orgasm rushed from him, left him limp and panting sweetly on top of him. He was still, then, content to stay where he was and only moaned softly when Bane kept him moving, felt the dampness of Robin’s come seeping into his clothing as he found his own release quickly with the scent of a well-satisfied omega reaching even his nose past the mask’s filters.

His suggestion to clean up was met with an annoyed sound, a stubborn shake of Robin’s head before he settled in more. “You will regret that choice when it dries,” he warned, but he was not inclined to move, either, enjoying the pleasant weight nestled on top of him. He slid his hand under Robin’s shirt, petting over the slightly damp skin there and closing his eyes.


	30. Chapter 30

Barsad smiled at the sight that greeted him upon returning from scouting. He had hoped that Robin would spend time with Bane if he was left at home. Bane tended to come home earlier than they did; with the supposed revolution thriving, he was only needed as an icon and he showed up at the courthouse, at a few crowds, and watched over them as a silent threat, but beyond that, he preferred to be home. Bane was only a public figure if it was required of him. He liked the quiet, being among a few trusted men, training with them, and perhaps on occasion being treated to a crafty figure slipping into their window for a visit.

He pulled off his boots, along with his other outerwear, and climbed onto the bed with them, careful not to disrupt their sleep just yet. They looked lovely together, Robin perfectly settled into Bane’s powerful arms, Bane’s fingers tangled up in the edge of Robin’s shirt. When he leaned in to kiss Robin’s forehead, the faint scent of sex caught in his nose and he smirked slightly, sorry he had missed the event but pleased it had happened.

Robin let out a sleepy groan when Barsad carefully climbed onto his back and kissed his neck, knowing Bane would have no trouble taking the weight of them both. He enjoyed the effect of Robin squished tightly between them, of forcing them together more and how Bane’s hands moved to rub both of their sides when he woke. Barsad reached for Robin’s cheek, guiding his head to turn so he could kiss him, feeling how drowsy Robin’s actions were at first, how his mind took a few moments to clear, for him to press into the kiss more then pull back, hiding his face against Bane’s chest. He held back a soft laugh when he could see the red lighting up on Robin’s neck, creeping to his ears.

“You’re probably fucking ecstatic,” he complained, and Barsad wisely chose not to respond, instead kissing at the sensitive hollow behind his ear and humming softly. Bane’s fingers carded through his hair and Barsad relaxed into them more at the touch.

“I am happy to see you getting along, yes, my little bird.”

Robin snorted and reached back to swat at him, getting his hand caught up by Bane and squeezed slightly. That made him pause, seeming almost shy before he squeezed a little in return and pulled his hand back, though not trying to move from between them.

“How was your quiet day at home?”

That had Robin’s body tensing between them. It took some time, some careful prodding, before he spoke of his day, admitted the arguments between him and his mate, the anger he’d felt. It was difficult to get him to be completely honest, to not try to make excuses for Stryver’s behavior, but the truth came out soon enough and as much as Barsad despised it happening, he kept calm. This was needed. If their Robin was to be drawn away from his loathsome mate, then he had to understand his true colors, to come to be as repulsed by it as they were.

Still his grip tightened around Robin’s shoulder, too tight, he realized, when he felt the sudden uncomfortable squirm. He remedied it by rubbed gently, rolling up his sleeve and placing an apologetic kiss onto his skin.

“I’m sorry you had a rough day. I’m glad it seems to have gotten better for you, though,” he teased, his hand sliding between them to rub the curve of Robin’s ass, smirking when the unease in the other man quickly left, replaced by an interested squirm when he gripped the firm flesh there.

“Yeah, just took a couple of smacks to get there,” Robin muttered, and Barsad stiffened at the thought, could see the same displeasure reflected in Bane’s eyes. Robin was strong, he could take much more than a smack, but there was no reason he should ever have to. It would do no good to tell him that, yet, though.

Bane’s fingers touched lightly to Robin’s cheek, as though he could rub away the wrong done to him there with the brush of his fingertips. “You told him I wanted you in order to escape him?”

“I wouldn’t say ESCAPE, Jesus, I just knew it would stop an argument.” He turned his head away then, picked at the bedding. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have used you.”

“Perhaps you were anticipating my whim,” Bane said calmly.

Robin’s head turned back sharply and he stared. They were treated to a genuine laugh from him when he realized Bane was teasing, that the corners of his eyes were crinkled as he smiled in response.

“Jerk,” Robin made a face as he said it, but he was relaxed again, exhaling slowly as Barsad rubbed down his sides, got him to tell him exactly what had gone on in his absence, enjoying the imagery of his two lovers pressed together, of Robin hungrily seeking out his pleasure with Bane.

“Will you let me watch, next time?” he whispered against his ear, pleased when Robin didn’t protest the idea of there being a next time, when he tilted his head back so the side of his throat could be mouthed over. “Or maybe you’d show me now, let me touch you, slip into you while you rut against Bane.”

Robin drew in a shaky breath at that, licking over his lips. Barsad could see the nervousness in him at the suggestion. He wasn’t surprised. With all they had done, Robin still had not wanted Barsad to be at his back when he was inside of him. He wouldn’t share, but it wasn’t hard to guess that he’d had an unpleasant experience. Bane reached up and touched his thumb over Robin’s bottom lip, pressing into the soft curve.

“Perhaps you could replace an old, bad memory with a new one,” he suggested quietly.

Robin hesitated and they gave him time to think about it, to consider it carefully before he nodded. Barsad reassured him that they would stop if needed, and Robin snorted, telling him he’d ‘kick his ass’ if he didn’t.

Barsad merely grinned and stretched over to grab the bottle of lubricant off the bedside stand. He sat up so he was resting on Robin’s thighs, peeling down his pants to expose his ass, unable to resist squeezing the firm flesh there, scratching his nails down it and feeling Robin shiver under him. Bane was touching along his back, finally helping him pull his shirt up and off so he could touch his bare skin.

Robin’s eyes locked onto Bane’s, as though he was almost scared to look away. Bane’s touches were more possessive in response to it, his fingers curling around his hips and his guiding him into rocking sensually against him. Barsad enjoyed watching them, hearing the hitching moan in Robin’s throat when he pressed a slick finger into him.

“Go on, then,” he encouraged, and Robin responded with a frustrated noise. With Barsad straddling his thighs, he could only move so much. He writhed between them, biting down into his lip when Barsad slowly sank another finger into him, Robin’s heat tight around him as he rubbed inside, hooked his fingers and made a low cry of want leave him.

____________________

The press of fingers against his nerves was sending a deep throb into his belly, making his cock twitch and harden with each careful stroke. He winced slightly when the dried mess from before pulled at the sensitive skin there. He ignored Bane’s look that plainly told him that he had been warned. He didn’t look away, though. He needed to see Bane was there, needed to hold onto his shoulders and see his face to remind him that this wasn’t the heat from before, it wasn’t someone faceless behind him, it was Barsad. Bane wouldn’t be looking back at him, watching him with an avid interest if it wasn’t, because Bane would protect him. He didn’t NEED protection, but now, when he could feel apprehension twist in his stomach before it was rubbed away by Bane’s hands on his sides, he wanted it.

So he watched, feeling almost embarrassed by the intense amount of interest in Bane’s eyes as he watched him, how intently he was being studied when his mouth dropped open and his breathing quickened. Bane’s hand found its way to his lips, tracing over them, his thumb working between his teeth. John bit down onto it slightly as he moaned, licking over the pad of it, hearing how Bane’s breathing grew heavier through the mask.

It was hard to rock his hips. Barsad was being cruel, not letting him get the friction and rhythm he liked, making him feel ridiculous as he was basically humping at Bane gracelessly, needily. Ridiculous noises were escaping his throat whenever Barsad stretched his fingers out, pumped them into him almost too roughly, the harshness belied by gentle kisses to the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades.

He bit his tongue to hold back a whimper when Barsad’s fingers tugged out of him, when he could hear the quick rustle of him working his belt off. He felt Barsad nudging up against him, slicked and hot, the low groan as he worked into him, stretched him open beyond what his fingers had done. He arched back, tried to push back, but they were each holding his hips with a hand, keeping him still as they kept him steady between them. Bane rocked up, and the friction of his cock grinding against his own chafed, sent a shock of pleasure through him as Barsad lowered himself down, lying against his back again and settled inside of him.

He sighed when he kissed his shoulder. “You feel so good, Robin, so tight around me, like you can’t get enough of it.”

John shuddered in response, hearing the low chuckle against his neck, letting Barsad guide his head back at a sharp angle to give him a filthy, heated kiss. He licked over his lips and scraped his teeth against the swell of his bottom lip until it felt raw, attacked his mouth until John’s head was swimming from the feeling of being crushed between their bodies, of Barsad twitching inside of him and leisurely starting to roll his hips, fucking into him slowly, of Bane’s cock pressed tightly against his, the heat and wet seeping through his pants. He could feel his own cock leaking out, his precome joining the sticky mess from earlier.

“So good,” Barsad muttered into his mouth, his voice sounding rough. He jerked his head in agreement, kissing again before the angle became too much of a pain in his neck. John turned back to Bane, fleetingly wishing he could kiss him, even knowing how crazy that was, but he was watching them so seriously that John felt for him. He hesitated then laid his head down, kissing at the thick column of Bane’s neck. A low rumble of approval left Bane and he explored more, panted out and felt heat rushing through him, his body drawing up tight while his tongue traced against the light scar tissue of Bane’s bond mark.

Bane’s eyes flashed slightly at that and John worried briefly he’d done the wrong thing. Barsad chuckled, scraping his teeth against his earlobe before breathing against it. “You’ll drive him wild if you keep that up.”

John couldn’t help the interested noise that left him, how the corner of his lip tugged up into a slight smirk. He never got to play, not like this. Didn’t get to touch and explore, not with an alpha, and Bane’s skin was hot, it felt good to run his mouth over it, to close his lips around the circular scar and suck wetly.

He shivered when Bane actually growled again under him. That had been his tipping point before, what had punched his orgasm right out of him, that low, possessive rumble that left Bane and vibrated though him, spread into his entire body until he felt owned by it. It effected Barsad, too, and the smooth thrusts into him became harsher, they shoved him up against Bane more, made them rub together better. He cried out, biting down into Bane’s skin, teeth nicking against the mark on his chest.

Bane didn’t growl then, he _snarled,_ shoved his hips up forcefully as he came, fingers gripping John’s hips tightly enough to bruise. John’s body jerked in response to it, to Barsad hammering into him, to all of the overstimulation and burning ache. It hurt and it felt too good and he was coming, spurting into his now ruined pants, a choked cry forcing itself out of his mouth even around Bane’s skin. He was shaking, hazy as he sighed and relaxed against Bane’s body, as he let them both just use him. Bane was rocking slightly, still, enjoying the aftershocks of his own orgasm, his breathing coming out heavy through the mask. John could feel it tickling lightly through his hair as his own breathing tried to steady out.

Barsad went tense above him, and John felt him pressing deep, trying to work into him as much as possible as he filled him with his come, a pleased moan vibrating against his neck. Bane reached past John and he could hear soft kisses being placed against Bane’s fingers, a sharp growl from Bane and a low chuckle from Barsad telling him that those kisses had turned into sharp, playful bites. He made an amused tired sound and laid his head against Bane’s chest, sighing at the feeling of his fingers playing with his hair.

“These pants are completely wrecked.”

Bane looked entertained. “I did warn you.”

Barsad pulled out of him and John made a face at the feeling of him dripping out of him. He liked it well enough during heats, but it was distracting, otherwise. Barsad only rolled onto the bed to kick off his pants, John reluctantly doing the same, making even more faces and finally deciding that as tired as he was a shower was absolutely needed before bed. When he came back from it, Bane had cleaned up, as had Barsad, who was contently being spooned by Bane—not that John would ever call it “spooning” to Barsad, even if he did make an adorable ‘little spoon.’

He hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t know he wasn’t welcome by now, but it felt like something had changed now, like he’d given up something to them that he didn’t know how to name, and he felt like if it kept going like it was, if he kept taking what they offered, then things would spiral out of control soon.

But somehow, despite that, John had never felt more in control of himself. They were letting him make all of the choices in how deep they went with him, and maybe that would be his downfall, because when Barsad held his hand up for him, he took it and curled up with his face against his chest. When Bane’s hand came to rest on his arm, it felt good.

“Next time, you should take Bane in,” Barsad suggested against his ear before he cupped his chin, pulled him up for a brief kiss. “Ride him until you are crying out his name.”

“He’d let me?” he found himself blurting out before he realized how overeager it made him sound. Barsad only smirked.

“Oh yes, he quite enjoys it.”

John thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d have to confirm that for himself.


	31. Chapter 31

The next morning, he hesitated over dressing to go out with Barsad. His feet felt much better, but Philip's words rang through his head. It was one thing to say he wasn't going to listen to his mate, it was another thing entirely to deliberately go out when he had forbidden it.

He thumbed over the cuff of his boots as he held them, sat on the bed and questioned if he should be going out or not. Philip had always been the one to make the rules. He should listen to him. Barsad sat down lightly beside him and put a hand on his thigh, squeezing it lightly.

"Ready to join me?" He asked it softly, and John knew that he knew what he was asking, what he hoped John would do, judging by his quiet tone.

Maybe Philip didn't get to make all of the rules, anymore.

He tugged on his boots and let Barsad tuck a knife into his jacket before they left the room. He didn't think Philip would be in the hall. His eyes narrowed at the sight of him in his fatigues, clearly guessing his intentions. He wondered if he'd been waiting for him, waiting to check up on him. He shrunk down, a shamed, angry flush spreading across his neck.

"Philip," he tried quietly but was cut off by a sharp flick of Philip's hand.

"Where do you think you're going, John?" His voice had a dangerous tone to it, the one he only got when John had REALLY done something wrong. The one that told him he was going to regret what he did when he had to go through whatever correction Philip thought was needed to teach him to behave better. His stomach always dropped at that tone, a sick rush of anxiousness flooding through him, telling him to fix it, to make it right with his mate.

He didn't know how to fix this, though; usually his disobedience wasn't intentional, it was when he fucked up accidentally. This, however, couldn't be seen as a mistake on his part, and he went still, didn't know what to say.

His eyes flicked over to Barsad, and an even greater sense of dread filled him when he realized that Barsad was just looking at him intently, not stepping in, that he expected John to be able to handle this on his own.

____________________

 

Barsad hated to do it. He wanted nothing more than to step in front of Robin and crush Stryver's nose with his fist, but Robin was not made of glass and it would not do to treat him as such, no matter how much he desired to protect him. He knew that if he stepped in, then Robin would learn nothing for himself, he would not learn to stand up for himself, only how to hide behind another which he was too strong to ever be allowed to do.

It was a harsh lesson for both of them. The sudden frantic look of betrayal on his beautiful bird's features cut him deeply, and it took all of his self-control to not let it show.

Robin swallowed, opened his mouth, and Barsad was proud when his words held no tremor to them. For all of the nerves he was displaying, his tone was steady.

"I'm just going out, Philip, I'll be back tonight. You don't have to worry about me. Barsad always gets me home safe and sound."

Barsad felt the way Stryver's eyes swept over him, clearly finding him to be in poor taste. The feeling was certainly mutual.

"What did we talk about yesterday, John?" Stryver's voice was too calm, the sort of tone Barsad often took when he wished to truly put fear into a new recruit.

Robin licked over his lips. "You... you said you didn't want me to go out anymore, but—"

"And yet here you are, ready to go out. Do you know how stupid that is, John? Do you even understand how much danger you're putting yourself in?" His face twisted into something angry and sour. "Do you even realize how difficult your little acts of childish rebellion are for me? How tedious I find them?"

Barsad saw how Robin's fists clenched in anger over that. "I'm not—stop treating me like I'm some dumb kid! I'm your mate!"

The outburst seemed to startle Stryver. He looked at Barsad for a moment, seeming to be gauging if he was going to step in, to perhaps go to get Bane, and when he did nothing Barsad bit sharply into his inner cheek, tasting blood when he saw Stryver grabbing onto Robin's arms tightly, too tightly.

When Robin winced, Stryver gave him a shake, his face pressing in close to Robin’s, his voice a low hiss.

"If only you were as wise as a child, you ungrateful animal." Robin's eyes flashed with pain over the insult. Stryver only tightened his grip, seeming to be at a breaking point. "I plucked you out of the filth. I made you into something actually worthwhile, and this is the thanks I get? You running to the next alpha who has even a glancing interest in you, with your ass out eagerly?"

Robin stared at Stryver in a frozen shock. There was rage and hurt in his eyes, burning beautifully. Barsad saw his fists clench up tight and he jerked away. For one fleetingly wonderful moment, Barsad thought that his little bird’s anger had finally broken through all of the terrible conditioning he had received, that all of the bubbling rage in his bones had finally burst out.

What he saw instead was perhaps better, for now, anyway.

Robin's jaw clenched right, his teeth gritting before he spoke."If that's all I am to you—” he stopped and shook his head tersely, not able to accept that idea for himself, yet. "You need to understand, Philip, you've been living hidden away so you haven't seen it, but the rules have changed. You don't make the rules about me, anymore, Bane does."

"I am you MATE, John—"

"Yeah, yeah, you are, and I went along with all of this to protect YOU, not me, and you need to remember that," Robin said, his voice right with determination, "because without me, Bane doesn't have much reason to keep you around."

"Are you threatening ME, you ungrateful—"

"No, I'm telling you that I'm going out, and that I'm going to come home safely to you, but you're not going to keep me trapped in here like you've done to yourself."

With that, Robin was looking towards him, ready to go. Barsad was more than happy to lead the way past a speechless Stryver and around the hall where Robin's tightened shoulders hunched down, his fingers shaking slightly as he exhaled.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, what did I just do?"

Barsad took his hand and rubbed over the top of it until his fingers stilled. “You stood up for yourself, all on your own, and it was stunning," he reassured him. When they were at the door, he leaned to kiss his forehead, ignoring the light chuckle from Kojo who was guarding the door. Robin ducked his head a little, not quite ready to accept praise for doing something so blasphemous as telling off his bastard of a mate, but there was a pleased glow to his cheeks, a cautious ease when they went out together.

They spent the day helping move supplies. Robin was shocked when he put a gun into his hands, tried to protest that he was fine with just a knife, but he wouldn’t take it back. Barsad had taught him the basics of shooting, now. If a mob attack were to occur, Robin would be a target without a gun, and he told him that, told him that he was counting on him to protect him with it, as well, and nodded in approval when Robin’s grip on the handle tightened.

The mobs had gotten smarter. They stopped attacking the trucks. It was after they had finished moving sacks of rice to the rationing stations, after they had climbed back into the truck and driven a block or so away that they heard a screeching crash, the sound of metal and stone colliding.

Barsad was surprised they had been able to organize enough to crash an SUV into the now wrecked grocery building. There was little to do, now. They were all scattering like ants, clutching fervently to supplies and running out into the streets. Gunfire would be a waste of ammunition when all of the supplies they had just delivered were as good as gone.

Plenty of the people fleeing he was more than sure were part of the new army they had raised. It was unsurprising. While he was certain they would gather and stand with Bane if ordered, they were animals who one could do little about without direct orders, and they would turn against them if they thought for a second they were weak. It was the nature of Gotham, to blindly follow those with the power. It was why Bane had given them the power, as just another way to show their true natures.

They ended up doing a damage assessment, instead. No one in the station was hurt beyond some bruising. Everything was cleaned out, though, and there would not be another delivery for this station until the following week. That meant empty stomachs and desperation would soon be ruling this area of the neighborhood.

Robin swore when he filled him in on the situation, looking frustrated. “Why would they do this? There’s enough! This station is where the boys go! What are they supposed to eat, now?”

“The boys?”

“St. Swithin’s; don’t tell me you don’t recognize the block.”

He paused at that before he leaned against the truck, taking in the view of several workers sweeping up debris. “I knew we were close to it. I didn’t know you still felt an attachment there,” he answered carefully.

“Of course I do, we grew up there. Don’t you?” He seemed to realize what he was asking and shook his head. “Of course not. I used to visit there as often as I could. I got Philip to put all of his charitable donations towards it.”

“That is very considerate of you, considering it was them who separated us.” He pulled a pack of slightly crushed cigarettes from his pocket and tapped one out before lighting it. They were getting scarce, extremely so. He rarely indulged, and this was certain to be the last pack he would have while in Gotham, but talk of their childhood home set his teeth on edge.

“That’s not the kids’ fault, Barsad.” He shot him an annoyed look. “That was the adults, and they were—they were trying to help,” he finished softly, staring down at the ground.

“Yes, help us ‘learn our place’,” Barsad spat the words out bitterly. “I suppose I do have to thank them; without them, I never would have found my mate. I never would have learned of how I could be treated as an equal.”

Robin looked back at him at that, looking hurt. “I always treated you like an equal, even before I knew I was an omega, too.”

He softened at that, glancing around before he wrapped an arm around his shoulder, feeling the stiffness in Robin’s frame. “I know. I am sorry, my little bird. You are the only happy memories I have here. I don’t hold the same love for that place that you do.”

Robin shook his head firmly. “It’s not that place, Barsad, it’s the kids. Just the kids. They get little enough, barely anyone looked after them before all of this. Imagine how bad it has to be, now?”

Barsad pursed his lips around the filter of the cigarette, taking a slow drag before he spoke. “Would you like to check in on them?”

The question had Robin perking up for a moment before his eyes clouded. “And tell them what? Get ready to be even hungrier because rations aren’t going to be coming this week?”

He considered him a moment before he sighed. “I will see what can be done for them. In the meantime, I’m sure the rest of these cigarettes will fetch enough in barter for them eat for the day.”

It was worth any amount of nicotine to see how Robin’s features brightened. He savored his last cigarette before they left, holding it to Robin’s lips to share a drag or two before he crushed it out and they moved on. By the time they were home, they were both drained. The boys’ home had been turned into a sanctuary of sorts, filled with all manner of Gothamites. The thought didn’t sit well with either of them, of the young boys getting lost in that sort of shuffle even more so. They’d discretely handed out the bit of food they’d obtained for them, not much for each, but enough to stave off an empty belly before bedtime, to make sleep easier. They made sure it only went to the children, that they hid it away.

He demurred when Robin thanked him. It was nothing. They were not doing this to see children suffer. He had not been lying when he said he’d given no thought to St Swithin’s before today. It had felt strange to be back in those walls, to see Robin touch his hand to the banister as they climbed the staircase, as though he was lost in a memory.

Now, he was left with the realization that he was sentencing the young boys in those halls, the ones who eyed them with suspicion until they saw Robin, the ones who were hungry and whose eyes were filled with a familiar young anger over their fate, to death. It was not that they did not know there would be rare innocents lost in the fire. Fire purged everything in its path. It was a truth, it was a necessary evil.

But it was a troubling thing to witness it as he had today. It would be good to lie out with Robin and his mate and rest, to not push aside the feelings in his mind, but to accept them. They were doing the purge to make the world a better place. Sacrifices needed to be made for that, and he would not ignore that fact or the burden it laid on him. The boys in the home deserved someone who would think of them after their deaths.

He stopped when he reached their bedroom door, and Robin was tired enough that he bumped into him from behind, made a surprised noise.

“What are you doing?”

Barsad only smiled. He could hear the softest murmur of conversation inside of the room, and there was only one that Bane would allow into the bedroom. He opened the door to see their sister there, seated beside Bane on the bed and his heart soared to see her after the events of the day, the long weeks without seeing her. They had agreed that Robin would only meet with her after they had decided that he was settling in, that he was ready for such a thing, which meant Barsad always missed her stealthy visits.

It was heartening to realize what a good sign seeing Talia was, that Bane recognized Robin as growing, understanding more with them. Robin’s head poked past his shoulder when he stood in the doorway, and he made a surprised noise.

“What the hell is going on?”


	32. Chapter 32

Bane held back an amused look at Robin’s outburst. He assumed Talia would only find it entertaining, and her eyes indeed sparkled slightly with interest as Barsad squeezed Robin’s hand and guided him into the room.

"Welcome back, Robin."  
  
"Who is—" Robin stopped, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is that... Ms. Tate?"  
  
Talia's lips curved into an amused smile. "Robin," she greeted him warmly. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."  
  
He saw how Barsad smiled behind Robin at that, how he stepped out from behind him and went to his sister, hesitating only a moment before sweeping her into his arms for a hug. She laughed quietly then, but did not begrudge him the moment of affection, patting down his arm.  
  
"It is good to see you, as well, brother."  
  
"You were sorely missed, little sister." He only smiled when the words earned him a reproachful look from her and even more of Robin's confusion.  
  
They guided him to sit, then. He cast Talia a suspicious glance, but listened, eyebrows rising in surprise when she sat beside him on the bed, studied him seriously. Bane was not surprised to see approval in her eyes, but it still warmed his heart to know it was there.  
  
"You know me only by the name I have given Gotham," she explained patiently." But that is no more my name than the 'John' that you have been going by, Robin."  
  
"I don't understand, I mean, I've SEEN you. Everyone knows you in the city."  
  
She smiled coldly at that. "No one belonging to this city truly knows me, Robin."  
  
"You mean you're a spy," he guessed. “Then why are you telling me?"  
  
"Because you no longer belong to this city.” She touched his cheek lightly. It was not a caress, just the barest brush of her fingertips, but it made him go still, made him seem flustered by her words and actions.

“That’s not true,” he pulled back slightly, his body shifting closer to Barsad, “I belong here.”

She watched him scoot away and hummed softly in amusement. “You are right, Robin, you do belong here, with them.” She leaned closer, pressed a finger to his lip when he started to protest. “I am not here to argue.”

He pulled back further and rubbed at his mouth. “What are you here for, then?”

“I have missed my family, and I wanted to meet its newest member. I have heard much about you, little bird.”

Robin stopped at her word choice, family; it made something in his eyes go soft, a quiet yearning. Their little bird did not yet understand that he already had what he longed for in his heart. His hand came up to unconsciously touch over the mark on his neck. Bane wondered if Robin had noticed that it was looking faded, older. He wondered if he felt his mate under his skin as much as he used to.

Bane held out his hand when Talia reached for it. She played idly with his fingers as they spoke, a habit that she had developed in the pit when there was little for her to play with. He never minded, only enjoyed how her fingers had grown from fragile, tiny things to long and slender, filled with grace and hidden strength. He asked Robin about his day, as he always did. It took longer for him to open up, he kept looking to Talia during it, but soon he told them of what happened at the rations station, of the visit to the boy’s home.

Talia listened, interest piqued at that. “That is where you both grew up?”

“It… yeah, I visit sometimes,” Robin said, and Bane did not miss how quiet Barsad was during the conversation. He left briefly to go get them something to eat, and Robin had to be coaxed to keep talking. Talia asked him questions about growing up, about what Barsad was like as a child—that had the ghost of a smile on Robin’s lips, as close as he seemed to get, as he seemed lost in the memories of it, telling a tale or two of childhood antics.

They talked through their meal, Talia eating with them, sitting closer to Robin, clearly pleased he was not shying away for the moment. When she touched his hand, he paused in eating, eyes flicking to watch her with trepidation. She only patted his hand, told him goodbye and left for the evening, cloaked and slipping back out the window into the shadows. Robin watched her go, his head tilted slightly, eyes curious. He would learn of her importance in time. For now, it was only important they grow attached.

It was not a difficult thing. Talia drew others to her, and Robin was no exception. She began to visit each night. She would not say it outright, but he knew she had missed them, was pleased to be able to see them so often and they were just as glad for her company. Soon, Robin could not contain his curiosity. He began to ask her questions and they hid little from him.

Robin’s eyes were wide as Talia quietly told him of the pit, of her leap to freedom. It was always strange to hear her side of the tale, the soft sound of regret in her tone for leaving him there, as if it was not exactly what he had wanted, as if he would not do it again a thousand times over. Robin’s eyes fell to his mask and he understood its reason for being. He did not speak much for the rest of the night. His eyes closed when Talia ran her nails through his hair and he was asleep not long after.

____________________

John wasn’t sure what to make of her, at first. At first, he almost resented that she was there, taking up time that was usually spent just the three of them, the way they were around her, the way Barsad would smile at her, and how Bane would pull her into his lap, it almost made him uncomfortable. For the first time in a while, he was starting to feel like the outcast again. It hurt, especially when he’d just started to feel like he was part of what they had.

There was something about her, though, it was in her eyes. They weren’t kind, not gentle, he wasn’t going to kid himself about that. There was something in them, though, when she spoke to him, when she touched Bane’s hands, his cheek. It took a little while to understand what it was while they talked, while she asked about his life without making it feel like she was being invasive, while he had somehow ended up with his head in her lap at the end of a long day, feeling her nails soothingly run across his scalp.

Those intense eyes had turned down at him then, had watched him as she’d ran a finger lightly across his brow. He understood then. They were claiming. Claiming Bane, Barsad, and now him, and that should have freaked him out. It shouldn’t have made him relax because he was included in that and not being pushed apart from them, but John had come to understand that a lot of his emotions seemed to be running haywire lately, and once he realized what that look in Talia’s eyes was, he felt like he was at peace with her.

He felt like he was home, like maybe her early claims weren’t that far off.

He avoided Philip, not a glimpse of him after their blow-out. He wasn’t going to apologize for it, and he knew they both needed some time to cool down from it, for Philip to accept that things were different, now. He’d go see him in time, let him know he hadn’t forgotten about him, that he was still his mate.

The streets were getting bad. They were changing. Places he knew from childhood as already dangerous were becoming no man’s lands, bodies piling up. It was starting to repulse him. He didn’t need to watch the news with Philip. The news probably wasn’t even showing the worst of it.

“I hate it out there,” he confessed quietly to Talia one night, his head in her lap as it so often found itself anymore after a hard day. “I hate everything out there, everyone.” He knew he couldn’t really mean that, but he hissed it out vehemently and didn’t regret it, knew they wouldn’t fault him for it.

Talia touched his cheek lightly. “That is because you are beginning to see the true face of Gotham, little Robin. What you had forgotten for many years has now come back to you, and you see things for what they really are.”

He nodded, feeling bitterness welling up inside of him. Gotham had never felt more horrible to him than after that day, watching children wander hungry, breaking up crowds of people fighting over the most ridiculous shit, no one caring who was hurt in a mad scuffle for material goods that weren’t even worth anything, anymore. They were like animals.

Talia watched him quietly for several long moments. She seemed to be appraising him. Barsad and Bane were sleeping already, bandages wrapped heavily around Barsad’s arm. He’d taken a knife to it breaking into a violent, suffocating mob to pull out a child that had gotten swept up into it, crying for help.

It hadn’t helped. He’d left the crowd silently and had shaken his head at John, arm bleeding while there were no more quiet cries. They hadn’t spoken the rest of the trip back, had only taken him for first aid and gone back to Bane and Talia.

“I have a gift for you, John,” she announced suddenly, seeming to have decided on something.

He shook his head a little, looking up at her in the dim lighting. Her hair fell around her face like a halo as she looked down at him. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

“I think that it belongs with you now, little brother,” she answered softly, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

His stomach warmed at the claim there and it made him relent, sit up, curious at what she would give him. He didn’t understand, at first, what it was, the small cylinder of metal and plastic she pulled from her pocket, gently placed into his hands and guided his own fingers to curl around. When realization dawned, he swore, barely stopped himself from dropping it onto the bed. He held it then like he was holding someone’s life in his hands, which wasn’t far off; he was holding millions of lives in his hands.

“You? _You’re_ the triggerman?” He’d always sort of assumed without asking that it was Barsad. He hadn’t really wanted to know, honestly. He didn’t like to think that there was a button out there that could end them all, but now here it was in his hand.

“No, Robin, you are.”

“I don’t understand, I would never, NEVER push this.”

She only nodded in understanding. “Then that is your choice. I have no say in it, anymore.”

He swallowed hard and stared down at the seemingly innocuous object in his hand. He didn’t want that kind of responsibility. He didn’t understand why Talia would ever give this to him. At the same time, though, if he had it, then he knew it wouldn’t be detonated. He believed Talia when she said she was giving it to him, putting the control into his hands.

“I’m not really sure I should say thank you for it,” he finally said softly, tucking it away securely. She only guided his head back down and stroked his hair until he was asleep. In the morning, he told Barsad, whose eyes widened in surprised, dispelling the notion that the incident had been planned by him or Bane who didn’t looked shocked but clearly hadn’t expected it, either.

“I kind of thought you were the triggerman this whole time,” he pointed out, uncomfortable with the looks he was getting. They made him feel out of place. Barsad laughed at that, though, ruffling through his hair.

“You have seen every bit of me bare, and wear half of my clothes yourself; where would I have put it?”

John snorted but leaned in to kiss him, gently touching over the bandaging on his arm. Barsad had been cross on waking when Bane had told him that he had given their tasks today to another group, had glared and accused him of treating him like a child. Bane had assured him, however, that he would be giving him a double shift later for slacking off.


	33. Chapter 33

“Perhaps I would like to have the day with you both,” Bane told him when he was still clearly irritated, his arms crossed when Bane put a hand to his back where they stood by the bed. “Rest, you have been working harder than five of our men.”

“Then the men are lazy and need better training,” Barsad snapped in response, but when Bane’s fingers slid up the nape of his neck and scratched there he sighed, letting his head drop down. “Do not think I am fooled. Just because it is close does not mean I will put up with any coddling. There is too much to do.”

Bane curled a thick arm around him and drew him to his chest. His mask pressed to the back of his neck and Barsad closed his eyes in response to it, to the slow, open palm caressing down his side. “You need rest,” he said simply, his voice muffled slightly as rubbed his mask against Barsad’s nape until the smaller man sighed and leaned back against him.

“I do not like when it comes during times such as this.”

“I know, lamb,” Bane said, his hands resting on Barsad’s stomach. “It is unavoidable, though.” He looked over Barsad’s shoulder to John. “Think, though, that you will have your Robin to aid you, as well.”

‘His Robin’ felt a little dumb when it took him so long to realize that they meant Barsad would be going into heat soon. It wasn’t like he wasn’t _well_ aware that Barsad was an omega, but he hadn’t seen him in a full heat yet, nothing but the beginning ones from childhood, and the way Barsad always acted was not like any omega John ever saw, though he supposed he was starting to act more like Barsad now than how he had been taught.

“Hey, I could use some rest, too; how about you come back to bed?” He held his hand up quietly. He was feeling tired, honestly, and the idea of taking a day and resting in bed together sounded wonderful. It only took a moment for Barsad to relent, to rub over the tops of Bane’s hands and then go to curl up with John, sighing when John wrapped his arms around him, felt the soft scrape of bristled against his chest when he burrowed in a little.

“You should have told me it was soon.”

“I knew you would find out well enough without my saying.”

Bane said nothing, but he went to his drawer, pulled out one of his shirts and laid it by them.

Barsad scowled and snatched it up. “I don’t need this. I’m not a child,” he muttered out as he tucked it up close between them so he could have Bane’s scent close by. Both John and Bane were wise enough not to comment on it. John liked the scent, anyway, found himself breathing it in just as much as Barsad while Bane went out for the morning, telling them he would be back after he made an appearance at the court. John suspected that it was to give Barsad a bit of time more to himself, to let himself settle and get into the right frame of mind.

It wasn’t long after Bane left that Barsad insisted that it was too cold and began to rearrange the blankets on the bed accordingly, burrowing under them. John held back an amused look at the obvious nesting signs, knowing it wouldn’t be appreciated, and besides, it was a little cold, and being wrapped up inside all of those blankets did sound rather good.

“I could go to the supply area, see if we can get a couple more,” he suggested when Barsad finished arranging what they had and still seemed dissatisfied. “I’ll tell them it’s for me,” he quickly assured him.

“I don’t need any more, but if you are still cold you should get some.”

“Yeah, I’m a little cold,” he answered. In truth, he was feeling a bit hot, his cheeks a little flushed, and he felt a little funny. It was too soon for _his_ heat, though. He had a couple weeks to go, and while sometimes his heat came late it never came early, so maybe he was coming down with something, and in that case rest would definitely be good. Blankets did sound nice, though, and he wanted them to both be as comfortable as possible. “I’ll be back.”

It wasn’t hard to get a few more blankets out of surplus storage with the promise that they would be returned in a few days. He ignored the knowing smile from Alex when he was allowed in to pick through what they had, leaving with a carefully folded pile of the softest ones he could find.

“You might wish to go to the kitchen, get some supplies,” Alex suggested, and John glared in response, but it was begrudgingly sound logic, so he went and set the pile by their door and started to head back out to the kitchen area, rubbing the back of his neck. He stopped when the door he was walking past opened suddenly and it drew him out of his thoughts.

“Philip,” he blinked slowly, taking in Philip’s sudden scent and feeling a rush of low heat pooling into his belly. He hadn’t talked to his mate since their fight. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t avoiding him until he hoped it would blow over. Now, though, when Philip’s face was covered in confusion, when his hand came up to touch his shoulder, running over their bond mark, he swooned into it a little before he shook his head.

“John? It’s too early for your heat.”

He nodded a little at that. He was just as confused. “I guess it came early,” he mumbled, sighing when Philip’s hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on. I’ll take care of you.”

“You?” He knew he had to sound dumb, hated that his brain felt a bit thick. It wasn’t full blown heat yet, but it was harder to think.

“Of course _me,_ ” Philip said, his tone sounding mildly annoyed. “You’re mine. Bane can’t expect to prioritize your heat when I’m right across the hall smelling all of the pheromones you’re putting off for _me._ ”

That made sense. He didn’t like going into a heat with an argument between them still, though.

“We should talk first,” he protested as Philip guided him into the bunks. It was empty during that time of day, but the idea that if they did it here he’d be on full display to whoever shared the rooms was mortifying, cooled the flames growing inside a bit. This wasn’t his room and it didn’t smell right. It didn’t have the cozy nest of blankets—and probably by now more than one of Bane’s shirts—that Barsad had been working on.

“You’re fine. We’ll see if we can get it going faster,” Philip told him, and John nodded quietly after a moment, sitting himself down on the bed for him. He’d be fine. He sort of owed this to Philip, after all of the fighting. They could talk after.

Philip’s hands pinched when they gripped his thigh, his hip. It made him wince a little, too sharp, but he could understand, could feel a spark of excitement in his stomach, his heat recognizing his mate and reacting to it. At the same time, though, something was squirming around inside of him. It didn’t feel right, and that was a terrible realization, that his mate’s hands felt too cold as they slid under his shirt, that he was missing the tender feeling of lips brushing over his own, the scrape of bristle across his neck, the hot, heavy feeling of Bane’s hands palming over his ass.

He put his hands on Philip’s shoulders gently. “Hey, I’m not quite ready yet,” he told him gently, holding him back.

“You’ll be ready soon enough,” Philip said, his voice calm, confident. He always thought that he’d liked that, but it settled uneasily now.

He slid back on the bed and smoothed his shirt. “Maybe I should come back when it’s stronger.”

Philip’s hand circled around his wrist suddenly at that. “Don’t,” he said firmly, darkly. His tone sounded all wrong, and it was setting his teeth on edge.

He pulled at his hand. This whole thing felt wrong, now; heat or not, he didn’t like this, didn’t like how tightly Philip was holding his wrist now and he yanked it back, startled enough to gasp when Philip grasped his shoulders and pinned him down against the bed.

“Why are you always so difficult, John? Why can’t you do even _this_ right, anymore?”

“Get off of me!” he shouted. He wasn’t panicking, he wasn’t. He could break this hold even though Philip had leverage on his side. He was stronger, but he didn’t want to hurt Philip doing it.

“You’re MINE, John, not his!” Philip was shouting. Philip NEVER shouted, never had the sneer on his lips that he did now. “I’m not going to let you go to him for your heat. He had it once, and that’s all he gets. It belongs to me.” His hand slid under his shirt again, and John felt sick. He raised his feet up, curling them back and kicking as hard as he could, slamming them into his mate’s ribs, hearing the sick thud as they connected, the sound of air rushing from Philip’s lungs as he flew back from the bed, sprawling out onto the floor.

He sprang up from the bed, panting, anger bubbling out of him. If he wasn’t stronger, if he didn’t know how to fight... He shook the thoughts off, fists clenched as he seethed, staring down at Philip on the floor. Everything felt different, like things had been slowly stretched apart like rubber, so slow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t understood, but now it was too far, it had snapped, and when he looked down at his mate, he didn’t feel sympathy, or guilt, or desire.

He just saw red.

“Get out,” John spoke roughly, his tone cold, dark. He watched as Philip stood slowly, his hand holding onto his chest.

“Don’t you tell me what to do. This is MY house. Do you think all of this will last, John? This childish revolution won’t go on forever. Things will go back to how they were before, and then where will you be? On your knees, begging for me to take you back.”

The red tinged his vision at that. Maybe it couldn’t last. Maybe Philip was right and everything would go back to the terrible way it was before, where he was nobody, a pampered thing. He thought of the cool plastic and metal tucked into his pants pocket, and recoiled when the dark thought that he’d never let that happen seemed so right and natural in that moment.

“Get out!” he shouted the words. “Don’t come back! Go ahead and see how well you do as an ordinary citizen of Gotham.”

“You can’t be serious—”

John didn’t wait for the argument. He went to the hall. It only took an order to one of the men out there and Philip was being hauled out, shouting.

“I’m your mate!”

He was. He was his mate, and the mark on his neck burned, it felt like fucking fire, like he would burn up into ash with all of the rage and hate he felt now. This was his mate, and he didn’t want him anywhere near him ever again. He didn’t need him. He had his family. When he watched Philip being nearly dragged through the front doors and out past the grounds, he felt grimly satisfied.

It only lasted for a few minutes, the time it took to stalk back to the bedroom, food forgotten, his head pounding from his blowout and a mix of guilt and anger twisting in his gut making it roil when combined with the thick, heavy feeling of his heat settling into him. He stopped when he saw the blankets he’d left at the door, took a shaky breath. Being in a rage would upset Barsad, who would be going through enough with his heat. If he was being honest, it would upset himself, too; the too-strong scents and sensations of heat were already hard enough to be adding to them.

He let his head drop down onto the cool wood of the door, taking several long, slow breaths, willing himself to just be able to calm down. It was so hard, though, his mark was burning still and his head hurt, and his brain kept replaying the incident over and over again. The sudden heavy hand on his shoulder made him snap back, fist slamming forward and getting caught up in a strong palm. He looked up into Bane’s eyes and sagged against the door.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he said quietly, rubbing his face when Bane let his hand go. He wasn’t sure how he had missed him. There was almost no space between their bodies and he caught himself staring at the thick muscle of Bane’s chest beneath his shirt, could smell the familiar scent curling around him, making him want to reach out and bury his face into his chest.

He didn’t have to. Bane’s hand went to the back of his head and he pulled him against him. John nearly shook with relief, grabbing onto Bane’s arms and feeling stupid, completely ridiculous as he inhaled slowly, let Bane stroke the back of his neck. He didn’t ask what had happened, and he had never been more grateful for Bane’s understanding, for how he knew to just let him be, to let him collect himself while he offered quiet support.

It was a good long moment in the hall before he pulled himself together, before he felt like his head wasn’t going to burst. He butted his head into Bane’s chest a little and was mortified when a soft whine left his throat, but his head ticked eagerly to the side when Bane brought his hand up, the back of his fingers caressing down his throat.

“You’re early,” Bane sounded curious at that and John sighed, nodding.

“I’m never early, I don’t get it.” He hated the plaintive tone to his voice, but it really wasn’t fair. Bane’s chest rumbled and he made an annoyed noise at it because it sure as fuck wasn’t funny.

“I think, little bird, that you have synced up with Barsad’s heat.”

“Oh God, you have to be kidding me, is that even a thing?” He sure as hell hadn’t heard about that before.

Bane’s fingers ran across his scalp, easing more of the tension out of his head. “I have heard of it before, when omegas share a mate.”

John stilled at that. They didn’t. They didn’t share a mate, and this was far too confusing to deal with while he was in heat. He didn’t want to have to think anymore for the moment. Bane seemed to sense that. His mask was resting against the top of his head, the chilly coils feeling nice along with Bane’s breath puffing out through his hair.

“Will you let me see to you during your heat?”

He groaned out at the thought of Bane thick inside, the thought of his knot locked into him sent a shiver through him, made him feel a sudden rush of slickness inside, his body more than happy to prepare for it. He nodded quickly, fingers digging into Bane’s arms. “Yeah, yeah you can.”

Bane studied him a moment. “Do not feel pressured. If you wish for Barsad—”

He made an annoyed sound and ground up against Bane’s thigh, moaning at the feeling of the firm muscle and material against his dick. “Does that feel pressured to you?” He couldn’t help but smirk slightly at Bane’s low chuckle.

“Laugh now, you have your work cut out for you.”

Bane nodded seriously at that. “I brought this for him,” he held out a small vial, “I will fetch another for you. See that he gets this and I will return quickly.”


	34. Chapter 34

He nodded, pushing away the disappointed feelings that Bane wasn’t staying. He’d be back soon, he chided himself, his stupid instincts that made him take another big huff of his scent before he dropped down to grab the blankets and took them into the room.

  
Inside, he could smell Barsad’s heat scent starting to slowly permeate the room even though he was settled under thick blankets, his clothes kicked off and on the floor. It was nice, similar to his scent when they were young, but a little stronger.

  
“You took a long time.”

  
He snorted at that. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  
“Why do you smell funny?”

  
He nearly rolled his eyes and ignored the question, reminding himself that he wasn’t feeling his best, either. He dropped the blankets onto the pile, then thought better of it, of how much more comfortable it would be if he arranged them better and curled up with him, nice and bare with all of their skin touching. He shivered a little and arranged the pile better, made it nice and cozy before he stripped off slowly. He was already slick, not completely ready, but in a little time he’d be more than.

  
He slid under the blankets, pressing the bottle he had been given into Barsad’s hands, watching in the dim lighting of their makeshift nest as he gulped it. His eyes finally focusing on him, Barsad scooted close and wrapped his arms around him, drawing him closely, greedily, his face rubbing scratchily over the back of his shoulder.

  
“You smell wonderful,” was mumbled against his back, and he shivered when warm lips pressed against his spine, when Barsad’s hands slide across his chest, held him even closer. He finally paused their stroking when he seemed to realize. “You are going into heat with me.”

  
“Yeah,” he rocked back at him, closing his eyes and wanting him to touch more, “Bane said it happens sometimes.”

  
A quick bite against the back of his shoulder sent of shudder of desire through him. “I didn’t know. Your scent is so strong like this.”

  
His voice sounded almost awed, and John nodded quickly in agreement. “Yours, too.” It was clouding his head more quickly than expected. There was more than one of Bane’s shirts tucked into the nest, now, and both of those scents were driving him on, making the wetness inside spread, making his heat churn around in him faster than he thought possible. It usually took the better part of a day for him to be ready when his first symptoms sprang up, but it was like Barsad’s heat was forcing his own to catch up, and he felt ready now, wanted to be filled _now,_ and it was wrong that he was still empty.

  
He gasped out a soft ‘ah’ when a broad swipe of Barsad’s touch traced the curve behind his ear, made his fingers clench. “D-don’t, it’s bad enough already.”

  
Barsad only hummed contently, his teeth catching on his lobe, scraping over it and making him moan. He couldn’t take the gentle torture when his skin felt like it was already on fire. He yanked away from Barsad, hearing the disappointed noise he made.  Turning around to face him, their mouths met for a crushing kiss, so hard and desperate that John felt the tinge of copper in his mouth. He only reveled in the taste, thrust his tongue out and licked eagerly against Barsad’s into his mouth.

  
That was how Bane found them, desperately trying to crawl into each other’s mouths as he peeled back a section of the bedding. John looked behind him and snatched up the little vial from Bane. Not that he’d ever managed to get pregnant before even without it, but a revolution was a really bad time to be proven wrong about that. He swallowed down the disgusting liquid and coughed.

  
Barsad was already crawling over to Bane’s lap, his hands going for his pants, unbuttoning them impatiently, growling when Bane carefully pulled his hands back.

  
“I will have you _now_ ,” he said firmly, tugging at his hands.

  
“Patience, lamb, this will be hard with both of you,” Bane pointed out. “If we wait until you are both closer to your peaks, then it will be easier to breed you through it to the end without running out of energy.”

  
“ _NOW,_ Bane. I won’t wait.” Barsad’s tone sounded thicker at that, need creeping into it. A soft shushing noise left the mask and Bane guided him back down to lie beside John who squirmed and grabbed onto his hand tightly, squeezing it.

  
“Soon, lamb,” Bane promised. His hands scratched down their bellies and they both arched for it, the scrape of Bane’s nails sending fire through John. Bane took the time to strip slowly, watched hungrily by them both. He was hard, and John just needed what he had so very badly. It wasn’t fair that Bane was able to resist them both like he was. It had to be the mask. No one had that much self-discipline to be able to not rut into two heated omegas when they were so close to begging for it.

  
They _were_ begging by the time Bane deemed them close enough. Not with words, both of them were too far gone for those, but John couldn’t keep his legs closed, kept parting his thighs as he tried to roll onto his belly and arch his ass up, need displacing any lingering apprehensions he had about the position. He was frustrated when Bane would gently turn him back over and pat his chest, not doing anything about the hollow ache inside of him.

  
Barsad had crawled into Bane’s lap finally and was pressed as tightly to him as possible, panting softly against his neck as his nails dug into his back. It wasn’t fair, they were so, so ready and Bane kept telling them gently to wait, would still Barsad’s hips when he tried to rock against him. He would test their wetness, dip his fingers between their legs and touch against the hot slick, making John bite his lip and try to arch up for it, making Barsad gasp out, the noise in his throat pitching into a low whine when Bane wasn’t satisfied by their state yet.

  
“What more do you wish of me?” Barsad snarled out in frustration during a moment of clarity when Bane’s fingers withdrew again. “I am dripping out for you, I _need_ you inside.” His snarl tapered off into a desperate noise and Bane rubbed through his hair, not answering when he knew nothing he could say would appease either of them at the moment. John ended up crawling up behind him, pressing his chest against his back and curling against him, burying his face at the other side of his neck.

  
Fucking _finally,_ Bane seemed satisfied when he touched a pair of fingers to Barsad’s hole and they smoothly slid into him with barely a token of resistance. A strangled noise caught in Barsad’s throat and he bit down roughly into Bane’s shoulder, earning a rumble in response to it, sending vibrations through them both.

  
Bane finally let Barsad go to his knees and John didn’t wait for him to guide him. The tiny tingle of a reminder about his first heat ran through him, but it was dismissed so easily with Bane’s scent surrounding him, with Barsad on his knees right beside him, their thighs pressed against each other, their shoulders brushing.

  
A rough smack to his ass jolted him forward and he went from his palms to his elbows, chest pressing down into the soft bedding, cursing. “Oh fuck, please, _please,_ Bane.” He was exposed, now, feeling the cool air against the wetness that was leaking down his thighs.

  
Fingers pressed into him roughly. He cried out and took them eagerly, felt pleasure racing through his body, down his cock at even just that. He pitched his hips back, relieved when Bane didn’t try to stop him, instead letting him revel in the feeling of those thick fingers filling him up. It wasn’t perfect, but it soothed the ache, filled him like he needed.   
He heard the gratified moan leaving Barsad beside him and he was jealous as hell that Barsad was being taken first, but Barsad’s heat was what had started it, Barsad was Bane’s mate; he knew it only felt unfair because of his heat, but _damn_ did it feel unfair. He clenched down tightly on Bane’s fingers, felt himself light up further when a fourth finger worked into him, stretched him and rubbed him inside.

  
It was hard to focus, but he turned his head towards Barsad, watched as his mouth was agape, his eyes lidded as Bane drove into him roughly, hard, brutal pounding that had the smaller man clenching his fists into the bedding, his bottom lip going red from how his teeth scraped over it, mouth shining from the way his tongue kept dipping out to wet it.

  
John reached to hold his wrist, closing his eyes and trying to trick his body into believing he was impaled on Bane’s cock rather than his fingers. It helped, and he lost himself to the hypnotic sway of rocking back onto them, to Barsad’s breathy moans brushing air across his face, to the low growls and quiet encouragements from Bane to not hold back, to let the heat do what it needed to do.

  
He folded his arms under him and rested his head on his forearms, his teeth sinking down into the muscle there when Bane’s fingers glanced across his prostate, making him want to writhe in pleasure. His eyes peeked open, unable to resist watching. He could tell when Barsad came, how his back curved into a sharp arch, how his shoulders dipped down and his body shook.

  
When Bane slipped out of him, Barsad shook his head, starting to protest it, wanting Bane to knot in him. Bane soothed a hand down his back. “Next time, lamb,” he promised. His chest was rising and falling quickly with his own heavy breaths, from the effort of not losing himself inside of his mate. “Robin has need, as well.”

  
Fingers slipped out of him and he could have cried in relief at the feeling of Bane’s cock being guided into him. His body was on fire now, and his eyes were stinging when he finally felt perfectly full, just the right amount of stretch and burn, the wonderful weight of Bane’s body over him, sweat making their bodies slide, his scent so strong, pheromones soaking into his skin and making him feel completely claimed, precious and wanted.

  
He didn’t even get to feel more than the first thrust, he was too worked up and the feeling of being full of Bane was just too much. Were he more coherent, he would have felt embarrassed by how it only took a rock of his hips for him to keen out, cock dragging against the bedding as he shot out onto it. It was ok, though, he still wanted to feel Bane, his heat only made the deep thrusts he was being treated to feel wonderful even so quick after spending. His cock was twitching back to life quickly.

  
Bane’s hand was heavy on his shoulder, his nails scraping against the mark on his neck, and for the first time he didn’t feel the usual pang of guilt over it being handled by someone other than Philip. He tilted his head, encouraged it, already hard, already ready to come again. Bane was panting above him, low growls leaving him that rumbled through John’s body and made him feel like he could feel Bane everywhere, inside of his skin, stretching him open even wider with a snarl as his knot swelled, locking him inside, a shove of his hips that crushed him flat against the bedding, taking most of his weight on him. It was perfect. His orgasm rippled out of him and the room felt like it was dimming when he felt Bane’s warmth pulsing inside of him.

  
John moaned at Barsad’s lips catching up his own for a kiss. He blinked his eyes open, not sure when he had closed them, but happy to look into Barsad’s, feeling silly and mesmerized by the blue of them, how they lowered enviously, but there was still understanding there, he still wanted John to be able to feel good like he was, now. He reached out and took his hand, smiling lazily when it was squeezed tightly.

  
He whimpered when Bane softened enough to slip out of him, wanting it again, wanting to feel sated and content like that, not the burning heat that was already creeping back up. Barsad climbed over him though and rubbed his thigh, a quiet offer that John was happy to take. Soon it was all three of them joined together, jerky movements and rough cries filling the room.

  
Bane switched back and forth between them and when one was empty the other helped while they were being sated. John would suck at Barsad, lick up the come smeared all along his cock and belly, gasping in surprise when Barsad straddled him, sinking down onto his cock and surrounded him with an unbelievable heat that he’d never felt before. He sighed in bliss when he felt himself swelling into him, felt Bane doing the same, the moment a sweet respite before the need took over again.

  
When John woke, he made a face, feeling practically crusted over with sweat and fluids. He felt so good, though, sated and sluggish. It took him a moment to realize that Barsad was beside him, both of them on their stomachs with Bane draped out heavy across their backs, his arms bracketing them protectively even as he slept. He let his eyes slide shut slowly at that and when he let himself drift back to rest more, he felt a thick finger against his lips, tracing across the small curve of a smile to be found there.


	35. Chapter 35

Barsad rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sighing at the feeling of Robin beside him, of his mate boxing them in. He was sore, but it was nothing a shower and going to patrol wouldn’t fix. When he tried to wriggle out from under Bane, the heavy arm on his shoulder tightened, his mate always much more protective when the heat came, his own instincts taking over as much as Barsad’s did. He managed to maneuver out, though, guiding the arm to wrap around Robin, instead.

  
He smiled at them together, at how stunning they had been rutting. Even with his heat he could see that, how beautifully Robin had taken him in, how Bane had enjoyed touching them both, running possessive hands along both of their bodies. By the time he was cleaned, they were both up, as well, Bane giving him a slight scolding look for leaving the bed so soon. He let himself be pulled down once more, clean or not, and allowed himself the tender moment of getting wrapped up in his mate’s warm embrace.  
It was after they were all more awake and had cleaned up that the story of Robin’s mate was told. Barsad was glad it had not been known during his heat, as now he could focus his full attention and rage on it as it deserved. Bane was calmer, no less angry, but he was able to cup John’s cheek steadily.

“You are stronger than he is, Robin. You have no need of him,” he promised, and Robin nodded tightly, jaw clenched.

“I really don’t,” he got out roughly, and Barsad felt pride in his chest over how his Robin had finally grown to learn such an important truth. “I have you both.”

“You do,” Barsad assured him, “and we will never leave you, never again.”

“I shouldn’t have the trigger,” Robin said quietly while Bane pet through his hair. “I-I just really shouldn’t.”

“You were tempted to push it in your anger,” Bane guessed easily, and Robin was quiet enough that the answer was obvious. “If that was your desire, then so be it.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Robin shook his head quickly. “One fucking moment of anger, and I could have killed us all.”

“Do you think that even in your anger you would have had such a thought months ago?” Bane asked.

Robin looked unsure of the question, thinking over it before he closed his eyes and answered quietly.  “No.”

Barsad touched his shoulder. “That is because you have learned this city’s true face. You understand, now, don’t you?”

“I—” Robin hesitated, and Bane cupped his chin, made him face them.

“Say it.”

“This city,” he said it quietly, haltingly, sounding hurt by the truth, “I don’t owe it anything… and it doesn’t deserve to be saved.” His eyes looked nearly haunted, and Barsad knew that he had slowly come to see the truth through his vile mate and finally understanding that he was nothing more than an object to him, through their excursions, through seeing the Gothamites turn wild, worse than animals, caring about nothing but their own greed and willing to tear everything else apart to build themselves up.

Bane nodded slowly. “You have learned just as you were intended to.”

“There’s still the kids,” Robin argued, “ _they’re_ not part of the city. They do deserve a chance.”

Barsad looked to Bane who he knew had been in discussion with Talia over such a thing. He had shared his own thoughts on it, had reluctantly been coaxed into admitting that the children of the home still held a place in his heart.

“Then they will be given one,” Bane told him. “They will be smuggled out before the end.”

“Before the end?” Robin looked at them steadily and understood then. “You never meant for Gotham to ever survive this, did you?”

Their silence confirmed his suspicions, and he rubbed his face, hands raking through his hair. “Jesus, why even do it, then? Why go through all of the trouble before burning it?”

“Because the world needed to see what you have, Robin,” Barsad said. “It needed to look at Gotham as a warning, to see the depravity in the streets so that it could understand that we are not terrorists, we are purgers, wiping a blight from the world, so that when Gotham is ashes, no one will mourn it, not truly. It will be remembered as nothing more than a cautionary tale, a modern Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“I don’t know if you thought this through,” Robin said tensely, “but I don’t want you both to die, or Talia, and I sure as hell don’t want to fucking die, either. I’m not pressing that button and blowing us all sky high.” He turned his head to face Barsad, looking tired and hurt. “How could you want that? How could you think I could DO that?”

Barsad hated the lost look in his Robin’s eyes, the exhaustion that had nothing to do with the remnants of heat and everything to do with how the city had ground him down to his bones through the years. He pulled him close and guided him to rest his head on his shoulder.

“We had rather hoped that we would not be IN the city when you chose to blow it up, Robin.”

That earned him a weary snort, a shove at his arms, but the tension in Robin relaxed. “We’re getting out of here?”

“If we have ways of smuggling the children out, then the same can be done for ourselves,” Bane said as he guided them both to lie back down, pushing aside the bedding to find a cleaner area. Barsad curled up with Robin and stroked his cheeks, pressed some kisses to his brow and let their foreheads rest together.

Robin sighed, letting himself be coddled, snuggled, the remnants of both of their heats making them feel the need for touch and skin against skin. “I’d like that, if we could just leave,” he admitted quietly, guiltily.

It was Bane who rubbed against Robin’s shoulder and spoke then, “We remain here only to be sure that our plans proceed as expected, that nothing prevents Gotham’s ending.”

“Until Talia was ready to pull the trigger? So now you’re waiting on me? I don’t… even knowing, I can’t, I can’t do _that_.”

“Then time will do what you cannot soon enough, and we will leave before it does.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our bomb can be triggered,” Barsad explained, “but that is not its only method of detonation. It grows more unstable each day; eventually it will trigger itself.

“The bomb is a time bomb,” Robin realized, horrified, trying to struggle out of Barsad’s hold. “You were going to blow it up whether I fucking understood it or not!”

“Gotham’s end was always an inevitability,” Barsad said, letting him go. “We knew you would understand in time.”

He sat up slowly, looking overwhelmed, the idea of Gotham having an irreversible death sentence looming over it a harsher reality to take than a trigger. “How long?”

“Roughly just over two months.”

“What would you have done, if I hadn’t— if I hadn’t ‘learned’?” Robin was clearly hurt, upset that they had kept this information from him, but he had not been ready to hear it before.

“We would have taken you out of the city, regardless.”

“Kidnapped me, is more like it.”

Barsad shook his head. “No, we would have let you go where you wished, set up a new life for yourself without your mate.”

"And let HIM get blown to pieces, hoping our bond was distant enough that I didn't go with him," Robin said in comprehension. There was a flash of anger in his eyes at that, but it wasn't directed at them. His fingers came up to scratch at the mark on his skin roughly. "I don't want it there," he said tightly, as though he was being choked by its presence. "I don't want it fucking on me anymore." Barsad had to take his hand when his nails dug into his skin, threatening to draw blood. "I can still feel him."  
  
"Even a distant bond allows for sensations to pass through it," Bane explained as he soothed the angry red skin, rubbing his own scent back onto it.  
  
"Jesus, I'm going to feel him for the rest of my life, aren't I? Even if he gets blown up with the city, he'll never leave my skin." Robin's tone pitched higher, barely holding back panic at the thought.   
  
Barsad could understand, had worked himself up into a panic over the thought of being trapped in such a way when he was young and being sold off. Now he took Robin's shoulders and encouraged him to breathe. "You won't. We would never allow such a torment to befall you." He looked towards Bane, finding confirmation in his eyes that it was the right time for all of them to broach the topic. "Bonds can be broken."  
  
"They can't." Robin jerked his head in denial.  
  
"I am certain that that is what many would like to believe," Bane said as his arms wrapped securely around Robin and he drew him into his lap, "but like many things in Gotham, it is merely a falsehood to keep one in their 'place'."  
  
Barsad watched as Bane soothed the upset on Robin's features, stroking a hand across his cheek until Robin curled into him, calmed by his presence as strongly as if they were already bonded.  
  
"Can I really get rid of it?" he finally asked quietly.  
  
"I have heard that is it painful, but that it can be broken, if you are willing to break it with another's."  
  
"With Bane's," Barsad clarified quickly, for Bane was too humble to assert it, and he was certain that Robin would not ever think of a double bond on his own, that he would be wanted by Bane just as deeply as Barsad was.  
  
The surprise on Robin's face confirmed his suspicions. "You?"  
  
"If you are not willing, we might find another that would respect your relationship with Bars—"  
  
He was cut off by Robin's sudden leaning up, of his bracing his hands on Bane's shoulders and pressing his mouth to the fine mesh of Bane's mask.  
  
"Shut up with that," he breathed out softly, sighing when Bane's hand went to his hair, gripping his locks tightly between his fingers. "If that's possible... if you're ok with that—"  
  
"We are both more than 'ok' with that, Robin." Barsad gave him a kiss on the cheek, unable to help from grinning. "It is what we have both wanted from the beginning—you, by our side, always."  
  
"There is still enough heat left in you to start now," Bane offered, and Robin was hesitant but eager to accept. He tried to lie down on the bed for it, and Barsad guided him to stay in Bane's lap, instead. When Bane seemed hesitant to pull his mask off for reasons other than pain, he shook his head in amusement over having to guide them both.  
  
"Robin will not be scared off by your scars any more than I was," he happily reminded him, and Robin snorted, his fingers reaching up to stroke over the small bit of cheek exposed with the mask.  
  
"No way. Let me see."  
  
It was done quickly, a deep breath of medication and it was off, tender skin and scars exposed. Robin took it in curiously when Bane paused, seeming to give him a moment to change his mind as he did Barsad so long ago. Barsad was pleased that Robin reacted much the same way, his fingers curling around the back of Bane's neck, urging him down until his crooked teeth were covering Stryver's old mark. A growl left his throat when they sank into Robin's skin.  
  
None of them expect just how much pain it would bring, the sudden near scream that left Robin's throat, his nails drawing blood from Bane's skin.  
  
"Shit, oh FUCK," he sobbed out, his body jerking. Barsad could see the pain that came with Bane’s mask being gone, as well, and was struck by the horrible poetics that the bond would be born from the pain of them both.   
  
Bane licked the blood from his gnarled lips before he fixed his mask, running his hands down Robin's shaking frame. "If you don't wish to continue..."  
  
"There's no way I just went through that for nothing," Robin growled out on response and he dropped down, biting down roughly into Bane's skin, making his own mark right beside Barsad's.  
  
It would take several more heats for their bond to take, but the knowledge that Robin would soon enough be theirs forever, that he would one day never feel Stryver again, it was enough for them to all lie together in a peaceful calm, for them to feel Bane's hands on them, petting through their hair as Barsad licked clean the blood from their Robin's mouth.


	36. Chapter 36

Talia smiled when she found them later. Bane had tried to convince his mate that truly they should all rest for the day. Barsad had not wished it, had narrowed his eyes indignantly that it was even suggested that he might not be at his best even just after a heat.  
  
Robin had looked at Bane for a moment before he yawned and curled up against Barsad more, saying how tired he was, asking if Barsad wouldn't mind spending the day off with him so that he could rest.  
  
Clever little bird.  
  
Now they were both fast asleep in his hold, and Talia slipped into the bed wordlessly beside them. Her fingers touched delicately at the scabbed-over new wound on his chest.  
  
"Good," she said simply and let her head rest against his shoulder.  
  
"You should stay," he bade her quietly. "If there is no word yet in that tower of a way to stop the bomb, then surely you are no longer needed there."  
  
"You miss me, my friend," she whispered softly, her tone almost playful.  
  
"That goes without saying, and you belong here, with your family," he replied honesty.  
  
"The police are being tricky," she mused quietly. "I have earned Gordon's trust, and I cannot afford to be found out now."  
  
He sighed in understanding, but wishing it were not true. They spoke quietly instead about Robin's growth, his powerful rejection of his soon-to-be former mate, the strength and fire that Barsad had known lingered inside of him sparking and becoming an inferno. Talia thought it was precious that their cycles had synced up as they had, running her fingertips across Barsad's sleep-softened features.  
  
"I remember a time when I was so sure I would resent him," she said quietly, lost in the memory. "How fortunate that I did not let such a petty worry sway me that I did not recognize my new brother. Think of all we would have missed."  
  
"You are far too wise to ever let such things grip you for long, even as a child," he told her, and they continued to talk quietly until her words became softer, tapering into low murmurs as she fell asleep on his shoulder.  
  
In the morning, she had left, but they had discussed new plans the night before, the logistics of smuggling out the children of St. Swithin’s. It would be no small feat to move so many young ones without notice, but for their Robin, for Barsad, as well, when he was honest with himself, they would see it done.   
  
In fact, it would be Robin and Barsad doing much of the groundwork for it. He would trust them to have the knowhow to slowly funnel the children out of the boys home without the others there realizing what was occurring before it was too late.  
  
When he told Robin his thoughts on waking, he was bewildered.  
  
"I'm not some fucking secret agent here, Bane. Fuck, I spent the last ten years as a trophy omega.” He cast his glance over to Barsad's still-sleeping form, clearly envious on some level that Barsad had spent their years apart growing strong while he had been held back from reaching his true potential.  
  
"And before that, you were a child of the streets just as much as they were, a true ruffian," he added playfully, seeing how the corner of Robin's lip twitched at that. "You saw other children disappear from the program more than once, I presume, saw how they were forgotten soon after."  
  
Robin nodded tersely at that. "Yeah, a lot of runaways, a lot of kids getting picked up off the streets. The only reason me and Barsad were targeted was because we were both omegas." His eyes went from angry to thoughtful, his clever mind clearly mulling over ideas already.  
  
Bane was surprised and more than a little impressed when the first pair of boys were brought in that very evening. Robin had walked in through the door and unzipped his jacket which had bulged strangely, revealing a toddler who slept soundly under the warmth of his jacket.  
  
Barsad followed him into the house with a young boy clutching tightly to his hand. Hungry eyes widening at the sight of Bane, but he did not shy away, only fixed him with a wary look and let Barsad lead him to the kitchen.   
  
"We were scouting the area," Robin explained, “saw them a few blocks out looking for food. They recognized me. I told them I had a better place for them. It's not too soon, is it?" He looked worried suddenly. Bane shook his head.  
  
"Opportunity knocked; you were wise to heed its call."  
  
That was how the first few groups were brought to the secured household. It was strange, there were often several days before a path could be made to take a child or two out of Gotham, and soon the home was filled with the raucous play of children, something he was far from used to but did not find unpleasant. The league members certainly did not mind the monotony of the takeover being broken. He often found whatever children were in the house at the time curled up on the couch with whoever was taking their break, poker being traded for games of go fish, young faces soaking in the rare attention from adults.  
  
When Barsad brought a young girl home one day, Bane raised an eyebrow and Robin looked sheepish. "To conserve energy and resources, the girl’s home combined with St. Swithin’s... it's ok, right?"  
  
He found himself in little position to deny them when the girl looked up at him with sharp blue eyes, wise too young and haunting familiar. Talia had smiled that evening when she came to join them, had taken a comb to carefully brush through and braid the child's brown curls and fastened it with one of her hairclips from her time as Miranda.  
Robin still struggled, still had brief flashes of wondering how they could be condemning an entire city to burn. There are nights when he could not sleep, even when he was between them both, or with his head on Talia’s lap. She talked to him privately, whispered truths into his ear more eloquently and persuasively than any of them could hope, with nothing false. There was only truth for Robin to hear, now, truth for him to see on the streets each day they went out.

  
As time drew closer, Robin’s features were tighter, tenser, and it was clear the weight was taking its toll on him. He would rub over his mark often, touch his pocket where Bane knew he kept the trigger securely. There were only a few weeks left, and the boy’s home was growing wise, or at least it was not letting the children go out on their own, anymore.

"How are we supposed to get them out, now? March into the home and take them by force? That'd be suspicious as hell," Robin sighed, frustrated by the change so close to the deadline by which they had chosen to evacuate. It would not do to push too close, and Robin was still adamant that while he would not stop it, he would not push the trigger, thus they relied on time and nature to take its course. Both were fickle creatures.  
  
"You will think of something, my clever bird," Barsad assured him, wrestling him playfully to the ground in a hold that he had taught him earlier that week, goading him into breaking it while a group of children laughed and shouted encouragements.  
  
In the end, the solution was found, cruel but effective; raids for wanted offenders of the new liberation. Robin had thought of it, had shared the idea hesitantly with him. Now he stood beside him in the 'grand' court of Gotham's creating, watching the groups being brought in for questioning, for judgment. He discretely went and pulled the children from the crowds, had them rounded up for their 'own trial,' he explained to the guards who saw the red he wears around his neck and do not question him.

It was while he was carefully sequestering away the children that they heard the shouts.

“There's been a mistake! Take—take me to Bane! I want to see Bane!”

  
Robin froze, his shoulders hunching when he heard his mate’s cries. Bane sifted through the crowd easily, his hand touching lightly to Robin’s shoulder.

“You can take the children away, now.”  
Robin spun around to face him, shaking his head in determination. “I need to see.”

Bane could never deny him such a desire. He understood it, had watched even through the pain of his bandaged face as vengeance was wreaked on the pit, had not allowed himself to be pulled up by the ropes until the last man that had tried to destroy Talia’s light was a pile of broken bones. He squeezed Robin’s shoulder lightly and took him to the front of the crowds, out of Stryver’s view, but so that he could see him clearly.

“Where is Bane?” Stryver asked even as he was thrust down into the chair. His suit was in disarray, clearly having been quite lived-in by now. Bane mused that if he had just changed into the clothes of a ‘commoner,’ he would have postponed his death until the end.

Crane’s eyes were lit up with glee. It was clear the man loved the power and fear that came with his new position. There was a cheerful madness to his tone when he proclaimed that there was no mistake, when he listed Stryver’s title and his crimes.

“Call Bane. I'm—I am one of you!” Stryver shouted over the crowds. It was clear the man thought if he spoke to him, or perhaps if he spoke to Robin, used him to appeal to Bane, that he would be spared. He could not see, though, how Robin’s hand dug into Bane’s arm nearly tightly enough to bruise his skin through his coat. There would be no mercy for him. His ‘John’ was no more, and Robin was strong, had no need or desire for him.

He watched Robin’s expression as Stryver pleaded for exile. His jaw was tight, knowing the truth, that either choice was an execution. When Stryver was dragged out of the room, Bane looked down at Robin.

“Do you wish to watch?”

He clearly thought about it before he shook his head. “No, it’s enough… just to know.”

Bane watched him take the children out after that, how he let the ones who recognized him, who were scared but now understood they were safe, cling to his arms, the hem of his coat. Bane watched the proceedings himself from a window, feeling that it was needed if not for closure for himself, but for Robin, should he ask later. That night Robin did not say much, held onto Barsad quietly like he was a lifeline.

“Can you feel him, still?” Barsad asked quietly, his arms wrapped tightly around him.

“Sort of,” Robin finally spoke shakily. “I can’t… I can’t explain it. I can feel that he’s gone, but it’s like he’s not, still. Jesus, I just want it to go away.”

  
“It will,” Bane told him as he ran a hand down his side. He kept a quiet vigil to chase away the nightmares that were sure to haunt him that evening.


	37. Chapter 37

John sighed, leaning his head back in his chair to ease the crick out of his neck. He had been going over the list of children for hours now, checking and rechecking everyone that was out and everyone that was left. It wasn’t a complete list, and it sure as hell was bound to be an inaccurate one, but it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. Each name came from the children, young and old. When they came to the house, John asked them for everything they could tell about their friends in the home, their age, their names, what they looked like. Now he had a small notebook filled with names and as accurate of a description as a child could give beside them.

  
There were plenty of crossed off names now, but there just weren’t enough, and what if there were more? He could feel the pressure getting to him, the gentle reminder from Bane that they would need to leave soon, that there was only so much time to rescue who was left. He knew that, and God, he was trying so hard.

The kids they had saved seemed to be doing alright. John asked about the ones being smuggled out, where they would end up. It wouldn’t make much sense for them to end up back in the system, people would wonder, and besides, these children had been through enough. He could have fucking cried at Bane’s response.

“ _There are many around the globe who are friends to the league and who are happy to take a child into their home and understand that these are ones who have been damaged, who need special care. It will be given with willing hearts.”_

He wished that someone had just understood that about him a long time ago, about Barsad. He’d swallowed heavily and slid his arms around Bane who had held him and told them that when they were home at the league, a home that John had not yet seen but was curious about, to not be surprised to see a few familiar little ones running about, that some had caught the eye of more than one league member and while most in the league chose not to bring children into a world that was not suited for them, they were happy to nurture those who had been hurt by it.

He looked down at his list again. It was mostly older children left, about a dozen. They were old enough and he didn’t know any birthdays which meant they could have aged out, could have been kicked out of the home before occupation even started, but that didn’t mean John was going to try any less hard to find them. He was getting desperate, though.

Barsad shook his head quickly when he told him his idea. “It is too dangerous.”

John narrowed his eyes. “I can take care of myself, jerk.”

“No, it is too dangerous for _anyone_ to be out there alone, Robin.” He cupped his cheeks and brought their lips together briefly. “Would you want me out there alone?”

“No,” he admitted begrudgingly. He hated even the idea of it. The streets were terrifying anymore. On his worst days, he could even admit to himself that he was just ready for it to be over, had fleeting, horrible notions of just telling Bane he was ready to leave with them and pressing the button himself, letting it all be done. He couldn’t, though, not with those kids out there.

“I won’t be out alone, though. You can come with me and just stay outside of the building while I talk to the father.” It was a long shot, but he knew the father remembered him. If he could talk to him alone, in street clothes, not the uniform John had been wearing lately, then, well, maybe he could get him talking, ask him about the children. He wasn’t sure it would work, but he had to try.

“I hate the idea of even that.”

“Just trust me, ok?” He kissed him back firmly. “Just let me do this my way?”

“If Bane agrees,” Barsad finally relented warily, squeezing the back of his neck.

“Have to ask your alpha mate permission?” John made a face, even knowing it wasn’t like that, but with Philip gone, with no one fully in charge of him, he couldn’t help but feel a bit insubordinate lately at the sudden freedom. Even feeling the mark on him, even knowing he was giving himself to Bane happily, even knowing that they were in a warzone, he’d never felt more free. Barsad had teased him about it, that he was going through a rebellious teen phase ten years past due.

Now he bit his chin and laughed. “We will be discussing a dangerous situation with our mate, as he would with _us,_ as well.”  
  
Bane hadn’t liked it any more than Barsad had, but they understood how important it was to him, made him agree to keep a weapon on himself when he went, that he would not leave the building without Barsad who would stay by the doors.

It was emptier now than during their brief visit before to feed the children, and even in street clothes he could feel eyes on him, full of suspicion. He didn’t think he was recognizable from any of the videos that had been shown on the news, but it still kept him on edge, made him hyper-aware of the knife in his boot, the gun tucked into his jacket. He asked around quietly for the father, finally getting an answer from an older woman when he told her he came for a confession. 

The father was alone in his room, looking troubled and tired, and John felt a pang of guilt for it, reminding himself that he was just one of many that were being condemned. He seemed surprised to see him, and concerned. John lied and told him that Philip was just outside waiting, that they were fine and he just wanted to check in on things, on the boys, that he was worried.

“Things have been hard here, Blake,” the father told him, sighing, gesturing for him to sit. He tried to ignore that it was less an offer, more firm than he would have liked. He’d gotten so used to being treated differently now, though, that it rankled under his skin and he stood, instead.

“It seems emptier,” he commented quietly, and the father nodded.

“It’s like the children are being hunted down. I don’t know what else to say. We try to keep them indoors, but there have been raids, now, and we need them to go stand in the line for supplies just as much as the adults.”

“What about the older ones? I haven’t seen many around; they run off to join Bane’s army?”

“Some I’m sure did,” the father answered then he sat up more, started to talk about rationing, about how hungry everyone in the building was, adults and the few children left, alike.

It felt like a deliberate subject change if he ever heard one, and it made an uneasy feeling creep into his gut.

“All of them, though?” He shook his head as if in sympathy. “Kids, huh? What about Daniel? I remember him from visiting a couple of times before, he didn’t seem like the sort to run away and get up to that kind of stuff.”

“Daniel? No, no, he’s a good boy. He just went through his change, is all.”

“So how come I didn’t see him down there? You’re not kicking out the kids when they differentiate but keeping all of those adults down there, are you?” he tried to keep his tone light, playful, but something wasn’t sitting right.

“Oh no, of course not,” the father gave him a tight smile, “he was given to a good home.”

The words stuck in his head. “A good home, what do you mean?”

“Well,” the father hesitated, “the group that wanted him, they agreed to keep him fed. It’s better than what he could have gotten here, and in return, they gave us enough fuel to power the generator for a few days longer, a sack of rice, too.”

He kept his voice still, a steady pounding ache suddenly rushing to his head. “Did Daniel shift into an omega?”

“Well of course, why else would they have taken him in? We were lucky he went into cycle quickly after differentiating so they wanted him fast.”

“Blake!” the father cried out in shock when he was being shoved back against his chair, when John was holding onto his shoulders only to keep from wrapping his hands around his neck.

“You son of a bitch!” he snarled. “You’re selling them. You’re fucking selling them and their heats, their bodies to feed yourselves,” he seethed. Red was rimming his vision as he dug his hands into fistfuls of the father’s sweater. “They’re kids. They’re just fucking KIDS!”

“They’re _omegas,_ Blake! They need someone to be in charge of them! This way everyone gets something out of it. We all keep fed, and they’re looked after like they need to be. You know how it is!” He swallowed nervously, pushing at John’s hands. “You needed to be looked after and you ran off, had to get rounded up with your little friend so you could be put into capable hands.”

“Who’s buying them?” he asked through clenched teeth. His fingers were trembling with rage even as he pinned him down.

“J-just different groups! A lot of people are looking to omegas for comfort, they’re naturals at i—” He stopped and swallowed at the deadly look John was giving him. “I-I keep a list… of the transactions; it has the names.”

He left the orphanage with the scrap of paper clenched tightly between bloody, whitened knuckles. He couldn’t look at Barsad when he walked out, his mind was a haze of rage and red and he just wanted to run, swung a hard punch at Barsad when he caught up to him, tried to touch his shoulder.

“Robin—”

“Leave me alone!” he shouted then stopped, hands shaking as he thrust out the paper into Barsad’s face. “I’ve been looking for them, fucking trying to save them, and for what? What have I saved them from? _NOTHING._ They’re being sold off like whores! Probably being put on their knees once their heat hits and having alphas lining up, paying to take them!”

Barsad took the paper and looked at it silently, grabbed John’s coat when he tried to run again and yanked him close. He struggled violently, shoving at him before he buried his face in his coat and let out an angry sob. “Jesus, it never ends. _It never fucking ends_.”

“It will.”


	38. Chapter 38

_Daniel Ford—1 20-pound sack of rice, 16 gallons of gasoline_   
_Clarisse Reed—6 blankets, 2 10-pound sacks of flour and a quart of cooking oil_   
_Sid Manson—2 bottles of penicillin, a case of batteries, 4 lanterns._

The list went on, but Barsad did not care much to read the rest of it, to read what each child—for though they had reached the cusp of 'adulthood,' they were still children in his eyes—had been sold off for. Robin had read them, though, had committed the list of seven names to memory.He could recite them in his sleep, if needed. As it was, he slept fitfully in Bane’s arms, the trial of the day exhausting him even though his rest still remained hard to find.

He had watched as Robin broke down in his arms from all of the anger from their past, from these children being forced into crueler fates than they had suffered. He supposed he should not have been surprised by how Robin’s hand strayed into his coat pocket, still in a rage when his hand went to the trigger, finger sliding the safety measure out of place.

“ _It will?” he closed his eyes tightly. “It could end right now. Right fucking now, and why shouldn’t it?” he spoke bitterly as his thumb went to the button. Barsad felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, but he took Robin’s cheeks into his hands, cradling his head._

“ _Is this how you want it to end, then, my little bird?” He kissed him roughly, hand skimming up Robin’s wrist, and he slid his thumb over the button with him as their foreheads pressed together. “Then I will push it with you, if that is your desire, will go out with a kiss to your lips and our mate in our thoughts,” he promised him fervently, not wishing to die, but he would never deny Robin of this, not when Talia had given him the trigger, not when he was so hurt and broken and wanted the world to disappear. If they were to end in that moment, he would accept their fate and burn together._

_Robin’s finger lingered on the trigger for several long minutes as he panted for air. Barsad brushed his thumb over his, his heart pounding in his chest before John finally shook his head against his and flicked the safety back into place._

“ _Not like this,” he whispered roughly, his breath panting out over Barsad’s dry lips. “I don’t want to die with it. I don’t want any of you to, either.” He took a shaky breath. “And I want those kids out of here.”_

Barsad had been grateful that it was not to be their end. He had nearly carried Robin home, taking him to bed immediately, but he had not slept, had insisted on seeing that list and memorizing it. Now that he was in his fitful sleep, Barsad spoke with Bane, discussed what would be done.

“The time is drawing close, lamb. Only twelve days remain, and it is a risk to remain longer than a handful more.”

Barsad nodded in acknowledgement and laid his head on his shoulder. “I know, but I think, were we to not pursue this, that he would never be able to forgive himself.” 

Bane nodded in understanding and Barsad went on, “You could go out with Talia, leave us behind to finish—” He winced, gasping in surprise at the sudden hard yank to his hair, quite unused to such a stern reprimand, to Bane’s eyes looking sharp with him.

“Never would either of us do such a thing. We are here together, we will leave together.”

“Then we must be quick.” Barsad rubbed at his scalp, smacking at Bane’s hands when he went to soothe the sting he had caused.

It was no easy task, but an army of eyes and ears made it feasible. Robin insisted on going out with Barsad to search, to ask questions and scout out possible leads. When they found the first boy (Robert Backer—1 case of dried meat, 10 gallons of gasoline) John had been there, had wrapped his coat around slender shoulders and helped him walk out of the filthy room with its stained mattresses and grime. Neither one of them had looked back as Barsad followed them out, casting his gaze over to the brethren they had brought along. No words were needed, vengeance was brought down onto those left inside of the building as Robin took Robert to safety.

____________________

Time was drawing short, and it became a mad scramble to find the last few. The home was emptied out through more raids, and only those on the list remained. John knew, he knew they had to leave, and they weren’t saying it to him. He knew they were staying for him, risking their lives for him with each minute longer they spent in the city, but he couldn’t just leave those kids behind.

Three left, just three left, and then they could get out of there, they could let the city crumble. Fuck, he might even pull the damn trigger himself for real this time. He could remember all of that blinding rage bubbling up, how he could barely hear Barsad’s words as he held him close, only his kiss, his promise to do it with him, had snapped him back to reality. 

The house was running on a skeleton crew, members were starting to be smuggled out along with the rest of the children. He settled back on the couch and sighed, going over yet another map of the city. The maps only helped so much; everything was different, and now the groups they were looking for had basically gone nomadic, travelling from building to building, cleaning them out like locusts and moving on.

He startled when a mug of coffee was set down beside him, so absorbed in the maps he hadn’t even seen Ted walk into the living room and lean over him to set the mug down. He hadn’t exactly seen much of the man recently. He was kind of surprised that he was here still, honestly. He knew that he was on the list of people to get out of Gotham. He’d know, he had insisted it was there, seeing as Ted was the closest thing he’d had to a friend for the past decade.

“Drink it, you look like shit.”

He scoffed and picked up the mug. “I’ll probably look worse after drinking it.” Coffee was a scarce thing now, and what was to be had had usually been made from grounds recycled far too many times, boiling batch after batch until what came out was bitter, brown water.

He took a sip anyway, eyebrows rising in surprise when he didn’t have the urge to spit it back out, and swallowed the rich, warm brew. “Where the fuck did you get this?”

“There was some stashed away. Don’t get too excited, it’s instant.”

“Best I’ve had in months, still.” He sipped it gratefully, not wanting to know where he’d gotten it. Ted sat beside him and he resisted the urge to shoo him away. He’d come out to the living room to be more alone, to not have Barsad and Barsad hovering. He needed time alone to think about what the next step was. It seemed pretty rude to kick him out after the coffee, though, especially since he was pretty sure it didn’t come from the kitchen since the last cup he’d had there he’d nearly gagged over.

Ted leaned over the map and looked at it for a few long minutes before he tapped one of the spots John had circled and written a question mark over as a possibility. “Don’t bother, here. I got an early patrol to go check it out with me, just some squatters.”

“You’re looking, too?” he asked, surprised.

“We’re all looking, kid. Not much else to do.”

“You could get out of here, you know? I know you know what’s going to happen.”

“I like seeing things through to the end.”

“Softie.” He grunted when it earned him a not to gentle warning punch to the shoulder. “Why? I mean, you’ve been kind of great,” he admitted, “an asshole, but great.”

Ted gave him a disinterested look. “I need some secret reason? Omega sister? Illegitimate child abandoned at birth? I’m helping because there are kids out there being sold, and that’s always been wrong, whether it’s dressed up pretty for polite society or not.”

John didn’t know what to say about that, just stared for a couple of minutes before Ted shook his head.

“Too much guarding people who didn’t need guarding, seeing them treated like pets, like they were fucking stupid, like they couldn’t possibly get along on their own.” He rolled his shoulders into a tight shrug and leaned over the map more to look, tracing over an area as he spoke. “It kept me in the job; I ate it up like anyone else. Then I got some stupid little fuck who thought it was fun to jump in sewers, to sneak around and try to help the police, whose first instinct when he thought someone was in trouble was to grab a gun and run towards it. It made me question a lot of things.”

John kept staring at him, stunned, before Ted glanced over. “Are you going to waste time and really get us fucking blown to pieces, or are you going to go over this more?”

“I—uh, yeah.” He swallowed down his coffee and they went over the maps together. Having Ted helped. He’d lived in Gotham as long as John, knew it better than any of the other league members could hope to, and they were able to argue, quite loudly, over what would be ‘fucking wastes of time’ and what would be the best bet.

____________________

Bane watched as Robin settled the girl onto the couch, Clarisse, he assumed. She looked like she had been freshly cleaned, dressed warmly in a surplus uniform. Robin was putting a blanket beside her, making sure she had enough to eat, talking to her in a quiet voice. He wasn’t one to naturally soothe, to coddle, but he clearly had a knack for the rescued children, knowing the right balance of protectiveness coupled with giving them space to breathe. It wasn’t hard to decipher how he knew. 

He left the living room and pulled a curtain across it that he’d fastened, giving her privacy. The omegas that they had taken from groups had, for understandable reasons, not wanted to be put into the bunks with groups of strangers with mixed dynamics; the living room had been put to use for them before they could be taken care of. Robin looked tired, leaning into his hold when he pulled him into it.

“They were fucking using PG 600 on her,” he whispered harshly. “How the fuck did they even get a hold of it?”

“They most likely raided a veterinary clinic,” Bane told him. He could feel the anger nearly ripple through Robin’s frame as he held it still. He had heard of the drug before, used to induce cycles in various animals for breeding, and it was rumored that, in unsavory markets, it was sold to induce heat after heat successively in omegas. “Do you need anything for her?”

“No, she’s a fucking champ. Still at the end of her heat, and she coldcocked one of the guys who came at her while we were getting her out,” he snorted, sounding proud, “she’s going to be fine.”

He guided him back to bed, hearing his tired mumble of ‘two to go,’ and when they rounded the corner, Barsad was there, his lips curled into a pleased smirk.

“One.” He stroked Robin’s cheek before leaning up to press a kiss to Bane’s mask, his lamb having grown more openly affectionate with the threat of death claiming them at any moment. The news perked Robin up.

“Who?”

“Sid; we got him early this morning. It is why I left so suddenly. He is out of the city, already.”

“One more,” Robin closed his eyes and sighed. Bane brushed a gentle thumb over his eyelids. It was fortunate. Timing was truly becoming crucial, only a handful of days left. It left a weight in the air, as if their countdown had become a tangible thing, heavy on the tongue and dulling the senses. It could be felt in their bed each night as their lovemaking became frantic, rougher.

Talia was there each night now, wisely coming later in the night after they had spent themselves.

“The commissioner wishes to mark the trucks, to track which one has the bomb,” she told him that evening. She had been spending a good portion of her time among the police, offering her assistance in whatever way she could.

“What good will it do them?” he asked, unsure if there was reason for concern.

“Nothing, truly; they will never be able to take control of the truck even knowing which it is. I have stationed extra men at each. Still, I will… assist them in marking it.”

He chuckled lightly at her cleverness before they slept.


	39. Chapter 39

“Where the fuck are you, Kevin?” Robin mumbled out in frustration. It woke Bane, and he opened his eyes slowly to see Robin looking disheveled from sleep still. His arms were poking out of the larger armholes of one of Bane’s shirts and he was wearing little else beyond it and some briefs as he pored over yet another map.

Barsad had ended up sleeping with his head in their bird’s lap. His arm was sprawled out across it, and Robin’s hand was in his hair, holding it like it was grounding him as he searched. Together, they made a charming visage even with the tension in Robin. Bane stroked Talia’s hand until she woke, her lips pressed into a small smile at the sight of them.

They were able to convince Robin to put the map down long enough to eat breakfast.

“Lack of nutrients will cloud your judgment, make you less sharp. You will never find them, then,” Talia informed him seriously and he sighed, shoveling some oats down.

“There’s only so much time left.”

“I am aware, but recklessness will waste more time than a quick breakfast and a brief rest, since you have so clearly skipped out on sleep last night.”

They compromised; Robin listened to their radio transmissions while he ate, let Talia guide his head to her lap for a short nap with the promise that he would be woken if anything of importance came through on the radio.

They had certainly not been expecting the transmission that they received. It was a report that their ex-brother had escaped the pit, made late by the complications in feeding messages through. Talia’s hand stilled, her lips pressed into a tight line. Barsad was up quickly.

“What will you have us do, sister?”

She thought quietly for a moment. “If he comes here, he will die with his city, nothing more. He has no allies here, no one to fight by his side, no family.” She touched John’s hair lightly. “He will die here just as alone as he would have in the pit.”

____________________

John listened to them talking, feeling his stomach lurch. Bruce could be back. They knew that he’d talked to him before, told him he knew who he was, and John had also known that Bruce had been ‘taken care of.’ He’d tried not to think about it, really, knowing what he’d done to Talia’s father, to the league, burning it to the ground in an amazing display of hypocrisy, and that his ideas of heroics were so off base and fueled by some ridiculous ambition that couldn’t ever work, not in a place as corrupt as Gotham. Well, he hadn’t felt too bad about it. Bruce had made Talia into an orphan just like John had been, just like Barsad. It made it easier to let go of his earlier hero worship.

But what if he was able to do something to them? What if he could hurt one of them? He sat up slowly, drawing their attention to him.

“What can I do?”

“You can worry about finding Kevin,” Talia told him, squeezing his hand lightly.

“If he’s here, I can’t just—”

“He is not here. If he is, then we will make a plan and you will be involved, I promise you this, Robin,” Talia said as she handed back his map.

Finding Kevin seemed almost anticlimactic. He’d thought that it would feel like closure of some sort to drag him out of the filthy apartment complex the group had set up in, to feel overheated arms cling to him as gunshots rang out behind them. Instead, when they stepped out onto the snow-covered streets he stopped, bending down to quickly take off his shoes so that Kevin wouldn’t be barefoot in the snow.

“Look,” he rasped out softly, his throat rough and bruised, lips cracked and sore, but he was looking up towards the sky. John followed his gaze, saw the symbol emblazoned on the bridge and felt his stomach twist.

Fuck.

The rush back to Bane and Talia had been a blur. He’d entrusted Kevin to Ted and Kojo, told them to take him out of the city and go with him, they being some of the only league members left behind that were to be smuggled out. The rest, well, that was their choice, and John thought they were crazy for it, but he tried to respect it.  
He didn’t waste any time, went right to them and saw them preparing, Barsad cleaning one of his guns carefully, checking their weapons.

“What do we do?”

“You, Robin, will help me. His punishment for coming back here will come from both of us,” Talia spoke as she cupped his cheek, her nails brushing tenderly across his cheek, “from one he has orphaned and another he has failed.”

He nodded quickly, apprehensive but wanting, needing to help, to keep them safe, and if that meant going with Talia to see the commissioner, then so be it. It was strange, to be standing out in the daylight with her and seeing him, but Talia had explained everything to him, how they needed to be certain that not only the truck went unlabeled in case something went wrong, but that they gather up the remaining police for the courts so that Bruce could not use them as allies.

“I hear you are looking for men, commissioner, how about us, instead?”

“Ms. Tate,” the commissioner looked at them in surprise. He could see the slight flash of recognition in his eyes from when he’d saved the man’s life, and then he felt his blood boil when he shook his head, not wanting to put an omega in danger.

“I can’t ask you to do that, son.”

He almost growled, but Talia brought kept him still, smiled imploringly, gently at Gordon. 

“Please.”

It was simple enough to tag the wrong truck, and then it was simple enough to be gathered up by Barsad. They both heard his shouts and froze while everyone scattered. They were herded along with Gordon and the remaining officers to the courthouse. The plan had been to stay with the group, for Talia to question Gordon quietly to be certain that there were no remaining officers that could cause them trouble.

They knelt down beside him, beside another man named Fox that Talia seemed to recognize. She talked to him until he was led away with the other officers. Barsad was watching casually in the corner of the building and began to make his way over. He was interrupted by the sounds of someone being dragged over towards the group of prisoners. John was shocked when the bag was tugged off of the man’s head.

“Bruce,” Talia gasped softly in surprise, and John knew it was only half an act.

“You picked a hell of a time to go on vacation, Mr. Wayne,” Fox told him, and John felt Bruce’s eyes on him, looking probably just as surprised to see him as they were to see Bruce. It wasn’t exactly how John had pictured seeing him, but then he realized that Bruce was too well trained to get captured so easily.

Bruce turned away from him to look at Fox. “How long until the core ignites?”

“That bomb goes off in twelve hours.”

“Unless we can reconnect it to the reactor.”

John flicked his eyes over to Talia. He didn’t know that that was possible; was it?

Fox looked over at both of them. “Can you get them out of here?”

Bruce looked at them with him and John thought he could maybe see some sort of guilty apology in his eyes. “Not tonight. I'm sorry.”

Not willing to risk his ‘secret identity’ to ‘Miranda Tate’ even if it meant possibly saving her life, John guessed in disgust.

That was just fine with him, anyway. John shook his head and when he answered Bruce, well, at least it was what he honestly meant.

“Do what’s necessary.”

Because that is what they’d be doing, too.

His words seemed to clear whatever conscience Bruce had, his attention immediately going back to Fox, and forgetting about them. “Tonight I need you.”

“What for?”

Bruce was easily picking the lock to his cuffs before he pulled something out of a hidden pocket in his pants. “To get me back in the game.” He ran his finger over the small switch and looked back at them. “I won't forget about either of you.”

“I know,” Talia said simply, and John knew she would make sure of that. 

Before John could ask, could try to discern from Talia if they should do something, Bruce’s finger flicked to switch and there was a rumble through the ground. The sound of an explosion thundered through his ears, a small one, not enough to level the court, but enough to cause smoke to fill the air and for them to lose track of both Bruce and Fox by the time it had cleared.

John shot a worried glance to Talia. If that was what Bruce could do when he was on his own, he hated to see him with Fox’s help. She touched the back of his hand lightly before standing, Barsad watching over them both and guiding them out of the confusion.

“Do not worry, Robin,” Talia spoke softly, “he will not win this.”

Word soon came that the police had escaped the courtroom in the chaos, as well, and John was grateful that they’d mislabeled the trucks thanks to Talia’s thoroughness. They joined Bane at the top of the town hall, guards were put into place, and they sat together and listened to the radio.

“We have to get out of here, don’t we? I mean, we can’t stay here,” he whispered quietly. There were hours left, hours, and he didn’t want them to die over this. He knew that there was a helicopter stationed there, hidden on the roof to take them out, something stealthy to keep them below the radar.  
Barsad’s face went grim as he put an arm around him. “The explosion… there was some damage, it is being repaired as quickly as is feasible.”

“Shit!” John swore, trying to push down the panic in his chest. Bane soon had them both in his arms.

“It will be alright,” he promised quietly, rubbing the tension out of John’s back.

“There’s only hours left, how is it going to be alright?” he hissed back, sighing when Bane cradled his head, looked down at him seriously.

“If we die, it will be together; if we leave, it will be together. That is how it will be alright, my little bird.”

He took a long breath before he closed his eyes and nodded slowly in agreement.

The helicopter was out of commission, there just wasn’t enough time to fix it. The pilot shook his head in regret when he delivered the new to Talia. They sat quietly after that, and John knew it was game over. When Barsad wrapped his arms around him, he nestled in tightly. He could think of worse ways to die, but he’d just found this, and fuck did he want to keep having it.

He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to fall asleep, but he woke with a shark crick to his neck, Barsad’s arms still around him as they sat in the corner of the room. He coughed and sat up, wondering where the sudden rush of noise that had woken him had come from. He saw Talia at the window and he stood up stiffly to go stand beside her, looking down at the throng of people gathering outside the building.

“It seems that he was able to find some men to lead,” she commented dryly.

“Where did they come—” he stopped, seeing all of the blue in the crowd. “Are those the police from the sewers? How?”

“There weren’t many men stationed there any longer,” Bane said, watching with them. “Most had been evacuated. I presume he was able to evade them and blow the tunnel.”

“But, I mean, how did he even get the kind of weaponry that could be used to blow up them out? That explosion in city hall was one thing, just a minor thing as a distraction, but he’d need major firepower for the tunnels, and I thought you had all of his tech.”

Barsad joined them, clearly thinking over the question in his head. “There were some pieces that were missing from the armory, at the time. I suppose they were hidden away.”

“What stuff?”

Barsad went over the list aloud carefully. When he reached one of the items, he stopped, and John felt a bit of hope surging inside. 

A small smile spread across his features, reflected in Barsad’s eyes.  “It sure was nice of Bruce to bring us a way to get out.”


	40. Chapter 40

“Where do you think he parked it?” John tried to poke his head out the window only to be dragged back by Barsad who clearly didn’t want his head blown off by any stray gunfire.

  
“It could merely be his bike,” Bane warned, clearly not wanting to get John’s hopes up. “It also has a canon system.”

“Look!” He pointed at the flash of black in the air, near silent. “You were saying?”

“He’s come to lead his army to its doom,” Talia said thoughtfully. She turned to face Bane. “He is sure to park it close by. You will need to make a path.”

“We will give them hell, sister,” Barsad promised, leaning to kiss her cheek.

“I want to—”

“I need you here with me, Robin,” Talia insisted firmly, and he wanted to argue, wanted to fight for his right to take a gun and go down with them both, but there was something in her eyes that made him stay.

“What do you need me for?” he asked when he saw them going down to the steps of the court, feeling a rush of worry that a stray bullet might knick one of them even though no shots had been fired, yet. 

Talia watched with him, didn’t answer until he prodded her again. She shook her head and spoke softly, “It only makes sense for us to remain in pairs, should we be separated, should this not work.”

So none of them would die alone if they couldn’t get out. He understood and felt bad for ever thinking of leaving her up here by herself. He hesitated and held his hand out in a quiet offer. She looked down at it in surprise before she gently laced their fingers together.

____________________

Barsad looked out on the crowd and his lip curled in disgust. The mob was a patchwork of dirty uniforms and threadbare dreams, guns that hadn’t seen use in months, trapped below in the debris with them. Were the league here in full numbers, it would not even be something to waste time on. As it was, though, they were down to only those who volunteered to stay along with the cannon fodder of all those who had stepped forth to serve Bane for their own selfish desires and hunger for power.  
He raised the bullhorn and shouted out for the crowd to disperse, warned that they would be fired upon if they did not. Truly, a battle at this point would be worthless, they only needed to make a path out of the building, to be able to discover where their ex-brother put his copter, as they had no doubt he would be joining the melee. 

And there he was, as Bane gave him the order to open fire to thin the crowd, it hovered down in front of them and were their ex-brother at all intelligent it would have been used to end them at that very moment.

Fortunately for them, he only took out one of the tumbler cannons. It seemed to incite the growing mobs, though, and they raced towards each other. Guns began to fire, and Barsad felt his disgust only grow at how there was no order to it, just animals attacking one another. He did not have to look to his mate to know what to do next. They joined the fray, knowing they would find ‘the batman’ in it soon enough, and he posed the only true threat to their departure.

He could hear his brother’s heavy breathing through the mask only for a few moments before they were separated by the crowd. He could not afford to search him, however, swept up in the fray himself he was only able to focus on his gun and the men around them working to clear away as many as possible while his mate took on their ex-brother. He trusted Talia and Robin to be working out where the copter had been landed as they had the best vantage point. He waited for their signal through the radio clipped to his belt.

There was a sudden sharp burn at the mark on his neck and it made his stomach drop. He had only felt such a thing before when Bane was compromised, when he was in pain. It left him compromised, as well, and he felt a sudden hard punch to his jaw, making his head snap back as he dropped to the ground purposefully to avoid another blow. His eyes snapped up and he put a bullet through his attacker’s heart, but there were others now filling in, taking his place, and Barsad found himself surrounded, closed in on.

____________________

Bane had always known well that his mask was a vulnerable point, but it had never been something that had bested him in battle before. Instead, he often used its weakest point as a strength. Now, though, he felt a rare panic welling up in him; the pain was not there yet, but he could feel how quickly the vapors were escaping, how the flow of oxygen was crushed off leaving him with no air supply, and he could not help but wonder if perhaps the mask was broken beyond fixing, and if it would prevent him from taking them to safety.

  
He snarled, his hands feeling clumsy, and a shock of pain pulsed up his arm when he swung and his fists cracked into the pillar instead of flesh. He was slammed backwards, crashed through the doors of the court to hear Wayne’s rough growl shouting at him, demanding answers as he held his wrists, preventing him from fixing the mask, still. He heaved for air, trying to suck it into his starving lungs, to scrape by on the small amount of pain medication reaching him. It made the room fog and Wayne’s image swim in his vision. He did not understand how he had been able to escape, questioning it out loud with the small bit of air he had.

____________________

John wanted to rush forward when he saw Bane fly across the floor. He was stunned when Bruce threw the rifle into his hands, caught it up.

“Cover the doors!”

Talia took it from him, and he felt frozen as he watched them, wanting to help Bane but not knowing how to fix the mask, staring as Talia pulled the knife from her boot, the low cry from Bruce as it slid into his flesh. He knew the story, stood close as she told it, tenderly fixing Bane’s mask. He crouched down to take his hand. It was squeezed tightly and Bruce choked out their names in shock, in betrayal. He shot him a cold look, as if he had any right to talk about disloyalty.

“You don’t get to look at me like that,” he couldn’t help but bite out roughly, helping Bane to his feet. “What have you ever done for this city besides help it burn to the ground?”

Talia stood with them and looked at him proudly, touching his shoulder. “Our ordinary citizen,” she explained, and Bruce didn’t look like he believed her, which fucking figured, who would give an omega that kind of power. It felt good to hold the trigger out even if he wasn’t going to push it like Bruce clearly expected.

“We have to go,” he warned, flicking his eyes to the watch he’d been keeping meticulous time with.

“Gordon—” Bruce wheezed out, and Talia laughed softly, nodded almost in sympathy.

“Thinks he can stop the bomb, yes, but it is no matter. Even if he is able to find the right truck, block the trigger, he will have only bought Gotham eleven minutes, and your Fox was kind enough to teach me how to run the emergency flood at the reactor’s base. Bruce, there is no way this bomb will be stopped,” she whispered before she turned to them with a nod.

“Leave him. Let him feel the burn.”

It was clear Bane wanted nothing more than to crush the life out of Bruce himself, but they were running out of time.

“Come on, I saw him park it down one of the alleyways! Where’s Barsad?”

“Separated,” Bane was wheezing for air still, and his eyes were clouded with concern to realize that he was not there with them yet.

“Shit, we have to find him!”

Talia grabbed his arm tightly. “Panic will do us no good,” she warned, but her pace was just as fast when they ran out of city hall and into the crowds.

It had died down;, there were bodies everywhere, blood everywhere, it was a fucking warzone and he couldn’t see Barsad as he scanned what was left of the crowd. There was too much red smeared against everything to pick out his scarf. 

Bane closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. “He is alive, I can feel him, still.”

“And he is waiting impatiently,” a wounded voice came from beside them. Barsad was leaning heavily against one of the tumblers as he held his gut. There was no time for celebration, though. Bane hefted him into his arms, apologizing quietly for the loud cry of pain the suddenness caused as they made their way towards the alley.

It was a tight fit to squeeze them all into the small copter. Barsad wound up in his lap, and he held his hand to his side, cringing at the blood he could feel seeping there as the copter whirred to life around them, the top coming down and securing them as it rose into the air.

“Don’t you fucking die on me,” he warned, “not after all of that.”

Barsad hummed softly in amusement and let his head rest against him. “I will hardly be done in by a knife wound; I leave such weaknesses to others.”

“Good.” He held him tightly, feeling the seconds tick away. So much time had passed, there was so little left, and he wasn’t sure if they were actually going to make it out of range, aircraft or not. Talia’s hand touched his, resting over Barsad’s wound as she watched outside with sharp eyes.

“It would be a shame to miss seeing it,” she pointed out quietly.

He shook his head. “It’s enough to know that it’s over, for me.” 

He could hear it in the distance, braced himself, but they had made it, were still in the air as Talia watched out the window, as Bane piloted them out across the bay. He wasn’t happy to see an entire city burning to ash, the idea still sank into his gut, to know it was done. It was for new growth, though, new beginnings, and a warning for the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter tomorrow, my dears!


	41. Chapter 41

“Stop hogging it,” John muttered and nuzzled in closer to Barsad. He shuddered when a soft lick ran across his overheated flesh. Barsad’s slow, content exhale across his damp skin cooled it, making him moan with desire and bite at his neck in annoyance.

  
“You know I don’t control his knot any more than you do,” Barsad teased against his ear, scraping his stubble across his throat cruelly.

“I know, I know,” he whined softly, not feeling any better about the empty ache inside when he shifted his legs along the warm sheets. This was their third heat with each other, and their cycle together was simultaneously the best and worst thing John had ever experienced in his life. Bane reached past Barsad and cradled the back of his head in his hand as they all lay on their sides together.

“Soon, little bird.”

He nodded and couldn’t resist slipping his hand down, pushing a pair of fingers into himself, a low wanton moan leaving his throat while Barsad sucked kisses over it, told him how good he looked.

The noise turned into a despairing groan when there was a loud knock on the door.

“Robin, Robin! Come out and play ball with us!”

“Oh God,” he whispered in mortification and hid against Barsad’s chest, thanking God that they’d had the foresight to lock the door so that the kids didn’t burst in and get an eyeful and a half. He shoved at Barsad when he snickered softly, the fucker.

When they had left Gotham, he hadn’t had any fucking idea what to expect. There wasn’t much time to talk about it beforehand. He’d felt rather whisked away as they were taken from Bruce’s aircraft by league members, then guided to a train, then a boat, then a plane, then another helicopter, until they had finally come to the snow-covered mountains of the league’s home, parachuted in due to Barsad’s injury and Bane’s mask malfunctioning terribly. That being said, the very last thing he had expected to greet him as he limped down the strange halls in exhaustion was a swarm of enthusiastic children, grabbing onto him, hugging him, thanking him.

He was pretty sure they all thought it was funny as hell when he’d just finally dropped down in a tired stupor in the hall while they mobbed him, looking up helplessly at Kojo when he found them, glancing down in amusement.

“ _They heard that their hero was coming.”_

“ _Help,” he whispered tiredly._

Trying to convince a group of children you had helped smuggle out of a decimated city that you were not hero material was… well, it just didn’t happen. It turned out that a lot of the children over a couple years of age had ended up in the league, taken in by individual members, and were there to be raised together. After everything, it had seemed wrong to separate them, and a lot of them needed the attention of more than one or two adults. Apparently, the league had decided to adopt the motto ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ and take it to the extremes.

John had felt a bit of a sting to his eyes when it was explained to him. To be honest, he couldn’t have asked for a better gift than to see all of those kids getting a chance at growing up with people who cared about them, who were strict when it was important but were caring, nourishing.

It wasn’t like times weren’t tough. John knew exactly the sort of troubles that came from being raised in a home, but then so did Barsad, who the children were quick to cling to, as well, and they did what they could over the months to help them adjust, settle in. What was done to Gotham wasn’t kept a secret, they weren’t going to be hidden away there forever, and John wasn’t going to let their new lives be based on a lie.

It was met with tears from some, awe from others; many were just too young to really understand the magnitude of it. The older ones, though, he thought it might bring out anger or a fight in them, had explained it quietly to the ones they had spent so long getting out of the mobs.

He hadn’t expected them to be grateful. That probably wasn’t the healthiest reaction, but he wasn’t going to dissuade it, not when some nights he felt it, himself. He wavered a lot in it, more than one night had been slept restlessly shifting beside Barsad and Bane, the weight of what they had done not leaving his mind. Other days, he just felt peaceful, and, it was strange to realize, happy, really happy.

Right now, though, he just really needed the kids to shoo for a while so he could get fucked into the mattress. 

“I-I’m sorry guys,” he bit his lip and Bane’s fingertips trailed down his chest, thumb flicking over his peaked nipple and making him want to just writhe into the bedsheets when it was pinched playfully. “I’m sleeping, come back later, ok?”

“You’ve been sleeping all day!” was shouted through the door by one of the younger ones, and then there were some quiet whispers.

“Maybe you should go say hi,” Barsad said playfully, his head dropping back with a sigh when Bane slid out of him.

“Yeah right, it’s my turn.” He shot him a look then couldn’t help but laugh a little with him, kiss across his bitten lips and slide their tongues together.

There was a chorus of sudden giggles from outside. “We didn’t know you were in heat! We’ll come back tomorrow!”

He stopped, mortified, feeling a red flush across his throat that had nothing to do with arousal. Bane was chuckling softly when he climbed over him, stroking his fingers across his cheeks. “It was an inevitability for them to realize. You do deserve some private time, after all.”

He hid his face in his hands, groaning when Bane drew them down and pressed his mask against his cheek, the cool metal chilling away some of the heat in his body. “Some of them are so young; they don’t need to know about this, yet.”

“Did you wish to stop, to speak with them?” Bane tilted his head above him and John realized after a moment he was teasing. He hooked a leg around him and dug his hands into his shoulders.

“Don’t you even fucking think about it. It’s my turn.”

Bane rumbled with amusement and John laughed quietly even through his embarrassment. Barsad settled in close to him, wrapping an arm across his chest and nuzzling his shoulder while Bane spread his thighs for him, thoughtfully tucking a pillow under his ass so he could just relax and enjoy the angle.

When he pressed into him finally, John’s head tossed back and he closed his eyes, always overwhelmed by how good Bane felt during a heat, how right he felt when he stretched him open, how he was rough and his scent was all alpha, but those heavy hands were gentle, stroking across his chest and belly, curling around his cock, or even just lacing their fingers together.

“Y-yes, come on,” he slurred contently, wriggling down into the bedding, humming happily when Barsad nipped his shoulder, when Bane moved over him and growled, roughly pistoning into his slick opening, making him feel like he was burning up, making him whine and try to pull him closer, wanting to feel all of his warm skin against him.  
He arched gratefully into the slender fingers that wrapped around his cock. “I have you, my little bird,” Barsad whispered against his ear, and he nodded tightly, his hands reaching down to fist into the bedding when his orgasm stole through him, making him gasp and feel the wonderful throb of pleasure snapping in his belly, through his cock.

Above him, Bane’s growls became low, content, as John felt the burn of being stretched open further by his knot, locked into. He pulled insistently on Bane’s shoulders until he lowered himself down slowly, trapping him down under him, an arm curling around Barsad, as well, to keep them both secure and in place, making them both sigh contently under the weight.

“It’s nice,” he whispered softly, curling his fingers against Bane’s neck, tracing the scar across the back of it lazily.

“You feel wonderful,” Bane agreed quietly, his forehead resting against his shoulder for a few brief moments. “Are you ready?”

He nodded quickly, hating that it was going to hurt them both but wanting to strengthen their growing bond. The last bite hadn’t hurt as much as the first. It was hard to explain the sensation, like something unnamable was being torn inside of him, sharp and painful, but both times he could feel the bond mark he’d had with Phillip ebbing away, and any pain was worth that. 

“Do you think you can do it, this time?” Barsad asked, reaching to touch the backs of his hands. 

He nodded, fingers trailing up to touch the clasp on Bane’s mask. “Yeah, I remember how, just watch to make sure I don’t fuck it up.”

“Comforting,” Bane said wryly, but he took a deep breath, taking in the medication as John worked the mask off, seeing scarred lips for only a moment before they were pressed against the scar on his neck. It wasn’t enough time to brace himself, and that was probably for the best, to not be able to work himself up as Bane’s teeth broke his skin, mouth closing around him with a low, possessive rumble.

It hurt, oh fuck it hurt, and Barsad was right there, stroking his cheek, whispering soft encouragements as it tore through him again. He bit into his own lip and tasted copper briefly before Bane was pulling back, licking a sheen of red slowly from his scarred bottom lip. John ducked down, trusting that Barsad could fix the mask, wanting to make his own mark quickly to distract himself from the pain.

He flicked his tongue briefly over the slight scar that was beginning to form beside Barsad’s before he clamped his own teeth down. His head swam suddenly and he went still. It hurt again, like something was being burned right out of him, emptying him out so that something else could shift inside, could fill that hollowed-out gap, and make it more whole than before.

And suddenly he could feel it, all of Bane’s contentedness, how pleased he was for John to be a part of them, and through Bane, he could feel Barsad, how he could feel him in return, the three of them connected in a bond that was warm and wonderful and made joy thrum under his skin. Bane’s lips were against his suddenly, tenderly, and John knew what a precious gift it was. He sighed against his mouth and kissed over the nicked flesh there, skimmed across his tongue and whispered a soft thank you before he helped Barsad fix the mask into place.

Barsad kissed him after and nuzzled his cheek, admiring him. “You smile so beautifully, Robin.”

He wanted to make a face at that, but he felt too good. This was what a bond was supposed to feel like, he understood that now, and he was still smiling when Bane traced his fingers over his lips.

“Mine. My little bird,” he said simply, and John nodded his head in quick agreement.

“Yours, both of yours," he agreed. They all began to argue over whose turn it was, then, when the heat was finally over, he found himself tracing the new mark on his throat, looking at himself in the small mirror of their bathroom. He could see the old scar under it, mottled, dark, but he couldn't feel it. He could only feel them. Bane, up and out already to train. He could feel the effort he was putting into his sparring, the feelings of desire to better himself, to be the best that he could be for them, and through Bane, he could feel Barsad, cozy and asleep in the bedding still, the remnants of heat making him more sluggish to rise than he ever was.

John joined him, curled up around him as he stirred and pulled him in close. "I love you," he murmured quietly, feeling stupid over saying it. It was obvious, but there was so much welling up inside of him, the new bond making all of his emotions feel fresh and new and scary and wonderful.

Barsad squeezed his hand in understanding and turned around, pressed their forehead together. "I have always loved you, my little bird… but now we both do, and we will be together until the end."

"Bonds break," John whispered softly. He knew that well enough.

"Not this one," Barsad promised him with a soft kiss, and John, well, he believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been fun guys! Thank you for all of your lovely comments and kudos.
> 
> http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/


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